


you were a home that i wanted to grow up in and nothing good comes from being gone

by MooksMookin, spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Polyamory, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, friends enemies lovers and everything in between, in the last chapter, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooksMookin/pseuds/MooksMookin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: People come, and they go. Small towns grow, and they crumble. All empires fall, but things that are meant to be never break.Three friends learn what it means to grow up, grow past mistakes, and come together again.





	1. prologue: accretion disk

**Author's Note:**

> at the time of posting this, this fic sits at 48k, when i only intended for it to be about 15. this story was created when me and mooks were bouncing around hcs of iwaizumi fishing and chopping wood which spiralled into this, an au that both they and i have poured countless hours into. thank you for putting up with our absence to idol au, btw! we'll be posting a new chapter for that within the following weeks!
> 
> a few notes on the universe this story takes place in:  
> Tomonotsu, currently known as Tomonoura, is a real city where the studio ghibli film ponyo took place! both the film and kimi no na wa were big influences on our perception and vision of the small town. the "small town" referred to is made up, a little fishing village hidden from the main ports of the city. 
> 
> the implied child abuse tag is a precaution, if you want to know my reasoning behind tagging it message me privately on tumblr (spacegaykj) 
> 
> this was beta'd by my best friend mooksmookin, who also cowrote this! the title is from two flatsound songs!
> 
> this au means a lot to me, both in terms of how much i see myself in it and how its grown and developed. i hope with all my heart you enjoy~

Hinata sees him every day, the sweat glistening off skin as he heaves and lifts baskets and nets onto the pier. It's a sight that gets him staring, slowing down his pedaling on the way to school in order to prolong the time he watches him from afar. The seaside town creaks, a thousand years passing in a second as their eyes meet. Nothing in this town grows older except the people. Hinata can remember taking his first steps on the floodgate’s boardwalk just before high tide, can remember his mother’s laughter when he tells her about the boy he likes, can remember watching his sister take her first steps there just like him. Hinata tears every loose thread that ties his gaze with Iwaizumi’s and rips it away, turning to bike up the hill, away from the little harbour and nets and boy with skin as warm as summer heat. Hinata hears a rumour about Oikawa— there is always a rumour about Oikawa. He’s early to school— he is always early, even now.

Nothing changes in small towns. Not the people, not the roads, not the sleepy houses placed precariously on plateaus next to cliffside cliffhangers of whether or not the rocks will break. Hinata has breathed this air for every year he has been alive, has passed his fingers over the corroding brick seawalls and dipped his feet into the tide pools like daily prayer. Behind him, he hears voices, laughter.

And yet, everything is different from how it once was and different from what it will be.

—

**_Spring, 2003_ **

 

Mornings are when the fog creeps in, rising off the high tide and billowing into the streets. Oikawa balances mugs of tea in each hand, bag slung over shoulder and pace quick as the town begin to wake. Daylight has broke, and the horns of fishing ships in the distance echo off the cliffs and across the water. Instead of heading around to the higher ground, where the school is located, Oikawa travels on the rocky path down towards the small port in town, making sure his shoes don't catch on stray stones. Navigating the puzzle pieces of board walk and exposed rock, Oikawa jumps onto the streets of town, taking the shortcut he always has since he was a kid to the pier where the boats are beginning to arrive.

Sitting on one of the boardwalks is a boy with arms already coated in hook scars, little pink scars lilted against the warm melanin of his skin. Oikawa smiles as he approaches his childhood friend, toeing off his shoes and walking the rest of the boardwalk barefoot. The tea sloshes over onto his hand, hot enough to sting, but not hot enough to burn. Either way, he hisses, the sound breaking through nature's chorus of lapping waves and causing Iwaizumi to turn his head towards him.

“Figured you’d be waiting for your parents to get back,” Oikawa says in greeting, handing him a mug of tea. He crouches down, sitting next to his friend whose pants are rolled up to the knee, legs swung over into the water that is awfully icy to be sitting in. Oikawa crosses his legs instead of joining him in dipping in their toes as they watch a boat pull into harbour, pulling up their catches, their nets of crabs and fish. On board is Iwaizumi’s mother, his father, his grandfather, his aunts, and a few cousins whose names Oikawa couldn’t quite place. It was a family trait, the love for the sea, and it seemed to run in the Iwaizumi name by the twitch of Iwaizumi’s hands around a stray piece of rope.

“You should head to school,” Iwaizumi says, dragging his feet through the water. “Tell the teacher why I’m late.”

Oikawa sighs, taking a sip of his own tea. “I walk in the opposite direction of both my home and the school for a conversation, and this is what I get?” he sighs. It’s playful, without malice, but the pestering tone makes Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

It’s when Oikawa stands that he spots him— bright orange hair, white button down tucked into black jeans, bike stopped halfway across the part of the boardwalk that always floods at high tide. _His shoes must be soaked from standing in the water,_ Oikawa thinks before registering the boy’s fixated gaze on him and Iwaizumi— two kids his age, sitting on the pier.

“Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says, not moving his eyes from the boy. “He’s staring.”

Iwaizumi huffs. “Well, so are you.”

Oikawa waves Iwaizumi away with his free hand, examining the boy the best he can from afar. He’s got wide eyes— small, lean, built for running by the looks of his legs. Oikawa moves to take a step closer, to call out to him, only for the boy to continue on, pedaling his bike through the water and whizzing past.

Oikawa knows who he is. There isn’t a way _not_ to know who someone is in the small fishing village a half hour west of Tomonotsu, with a cap of five hundred full time residents and a few more who visit for the summers. The boy is Hinata Shouyou, son of the bakery owner. Oikawa remembers him from some of their elementary classes. Grades were often split, and despite being two or three years apart, they were put in the same room. It’s been years since that though, with Oikawa being in high school and this only being Hinata’s first year. Oikawa wonders if he would've said hello, had he not ran away.

Oikawa sees him at school— in the halls, eating his lunch outside, in between classes. Hinata is loud enough that Oikawa _hears_ him before he spots the bright head of hair pushing through the bodies, laughing as he escapes with the last ring of the bell, textbooks in hand. Oikawa only has the chance to speak to him once they get outside and away from the building, Hinata already putting his things into the basket of his bike and preparing to leave.

“Wait up, Hinata,” Oikawa chimes, strolling up to where Hinata is. Hinata freezes at the sight of him, eyes wide in shock, hands gripping knuckles white against his handle bars.

“I’m sorry!” Hinata exclaims, jumping up in alarm, resembling some kind of frightened woodland creature hiding from a wolf. “For this morning, I mean. I didn’t mean to stare at you and Iwaizumi, really, it’s just you looked really peaceful and— shit, that's not what I meant, forget I said anything!”

Oikawa quirks his mouth tilting his head. “It’s all fine, you don’t need to worry,” he assures him. “I was wondering if I could walk with you to the bakery, though. We need bread, and I was, well, distracted this morning.”

Hinata perks up, nodding. “Yeah, I usually head there after school,” he says. “Are you sure y- _you_ want to go with me?”

Oikawa laughs, smiling wide at Hinata’s pouted face. “Of course I want to go with you. Why else would I be asking?”

Hinata laughs in return, airy, not quite forced but nervous as a blush creeps onto his freckled cheeks. They make their way down into town together, Hinata riding his bike in slow, circular lines, Oikawa walking beside him. Small town talk is idealistic— Oikawa asks Hinata if he’s reading anything exciting, and Hinata spews out a story of a comic book he picked up from the library with space cowboys and alien hitmen and guns that fire lasers and plasma beams. Oikawa knows the series— he’s read it four times over, but it’s refreshing to enthuse with someone else with similar taste in the stars. Oikawa tells him about the telescope he’s had since a kid, how it’s got a crack in one of the lenses but he still manages to find Mars every once in awhile.

Hinata hates school, Oikawa learns. He hates the teachers and the overhead projector with the broken bulb and the slides and the lessons he can never sit through. _I can’t focus_ , Hinata tells him, tone half-whining, half-exhausted as they walk down the streets where fishermen sell their catches to the markets. Oikawa doesn't think when he offers to help Hinata with his homework, but he doesn't regret it when he sees the light that flash into Hinata’s eyes, relieved and excited at the prospect of understanding.

As Hinata’s excited smile widens across his cheeks, Oikawa can’t help but wonder if this is fate. Hinata is so bright; he blushes around Oikawa, stutters around Iwaizumi, bikes to school every morning and brings breakfast for all his friends. It’s hopeless to fall for him, Oikawa realizes, but in that moment, he gives away any chance at any other future for the sake of unraveling Hinata Shouyou. He’ll take the stutters, the butterflies, and all of the laughter that’ll come along with it. For now, he glows like the sunrise, stays tethered to Hinata’s wavelength and prays this year will never end.

—

It’s frustrating, living on the opposite side of town from the school. Everything centers around the coastline, leaving Hinata to bike down from his cliffside home before the sun has risen, make it across the break before the ships come into port. By then, the boardwalk is flooding, high tide in full swing, leaving Hinata’s shoes soaking and his ride considerably harder.

It was worth it, however, if it meant passing Iwaizumi Hajime.

Really, he had been doing it for years, but only now had begun to slow down at the pier where he spent the mornings waiting, catching squid off the dock or pulling up cages of crab. It’s only May, and the chill to the air means he hasn’t yet shed his shirt, so Hinata only sees the cusps of his collarbones and biceps through the fabric that strains over his arms and chest. It forces him to sigh, makes him go dizzy with some kind of longing.

Of course, Hinata has to continue before he’s caught staring. It only failed the one time, the time both he and Oikawa had spotted him on the first day of school, rendering him unable to speak to Iwaizumi the next time they met. He’s grateful for whatever kind of friendship has spawned from that day, but it’s nerve wracking, spending his time at the Oikawa household.

For one, Oikawa is as popular as you can be in the town, meaning he’s got people lined up to bake him cookies and send him love letters in the mail. Hinata doesn't know how he himself can stand out next to him. Oikawa is gorgeous in a completely different way than Iwaizumi; soft skin, flowing hair, the faintest of freckles on his shoulders. Everything tastes saccharine around him - the air, the cherry blossoms outside of his window, the faded blue siding of the house next to him.

Oikawa likes poetry, likes literature, likes reading. Hinata can’t stand the small print, can’t stare at the pages long enough to retain what the words mean. Oikawa is patient, doesn’t scoff or tease. He reads every assigned novel out loud for him, lets him take notes at his own pace in the comfort of Oikawa’s bedroom or back porch, living room sofa or kitchen counter.

Some days, Iwaizumi stops by, more often than not. Hinata has to fight to control his blush, has to fight to keep himself from tracing fishing scars over his knuckles. They rotate who’s house they study at. When it’s Oikawa’s, the doors stay open, the windows are always closed, Oikawa liking to work outside or in the comfort of his shoebox bedroom away from parental prying eyes. At Hinata’s, they work wherever they feel, his mother welcoming them all with snacks and compliments on Hinata’s lovely friends, _really Shouyou, you never said you made new friends!_ Natsu takes a liking to both Iwaizumi and Oikawa in a heartbeat, painting their nails and drawing in crayon over their physics and calculus homework, much to Hinata’s dismay and everyone else’s delight.

Today, they migrate to Iwaizumi’s, new territory by all means. He lives across from Oikawa, but his house is twenty times as busy— younger siblings prancing through the garden, aunties and cousins and grandparents laughing out back. Iwaizumi lets them know they’ll have to help with dinner, fish fresh off the boat and bread straight from the oven, rice and vegetables so green they burn Hinata’s eyes. Oikawa quizzes them both as they shuck oysters and chop carrots, staying out of the kitchen to an unspoken rule by everyone present. Oikawa understands why. He’s an atrocity when it comes to cooking.

Over the sounds of sizzling oil and knives against wood, he reads aloud his and Iwaizumi’s literature readings, noticing the way Hinata hangs onto his every word despite not knowing how the story started. It’s lighthearted, laughter filled, bubbling like hot springs and pop cans freshly opened. Oikawa takes in the sight of Hinata at work, cooking with ease. He notices the way he stares at Iwaizumi— intimidation? It was likely; most people would find themselves intimidated by someone like him. Oikawa kicks his feet against the counter, feeling at home in his best friend’s house with Hinata’s laughter reverberating off the walls.

Oikawa waits until Hinata and Iwaizumi manage to sort the food into a buffet-like style of the table, serving themselves and setting the plates aside. When they’ve organized themselves to the best of their abilities, he sticks his head out of the kitchen window above the sink, calling in Iwaizumi’s family like he has a thousand times before. Hinata laughs at his enthusiasm and the way Iwaizumi’s aunties dote on him, tapping his cheeks, fawning over good looks and grace. Iwaizumi is less so amused, shoos away his family and drags Oikawa away.

They eat outside, Hinata scarfing down his food, Iwaizumi sharing bread with the stray cat that lives near his house. There are kids running through the yard— Oikawa’s cousin being one of them, waving to him before returning back to their game. It feels a little less like spring and a little more like summer, like stretching arms into the warmth and forgetting how much being real stings in the small town ruts.

It’s why, when they’ve finished and the other two seem compliant to sitting on the porch and talking until the night runs out, Oikawa runs into the house and swipes whatever drinks are left in the fridge and bring them out with a smile on his face, already leading the way to the small stretch of beach left by low tide. It’s a path he’s walked a thousand times before, to the spot sheltered by the pier and just a short walk from the main street and the houses.

That’s the thing about small towns— kids get bored, get anxious, tap their toes and turn their arms into wings. Kids find adventure in the cracks of caves no one dares to explore and in the secret of stealing bottles, find pleasure in collecting driftwood to burn blue and drawing shapes in the ashes left when they light them. And Oikawa is nothing if not restless, curious in the things he hasn't tried, in the things he’s not allowed to do. So with the certainty of the crashing waves or a star going supernova, he runs through the rocks barefoot, not caring for how the stones scrape his ankles. He can hear Hinata laughing as he tries to keep up, can hear Iwaizumi wading through the water to avoid the stones Oikawa treads.

Oikawa walks Hinata through the routine when they arrive at the beach, leaving Iwaizumi to collect the wood while they create a makeshift in the sand, opening the coolers on the rocks that were once underwater. Hinata makes a face when he drinks his— whatever Oikawa had snatched is strong, but he swallows and smiles after it’s washed down, raising the bottle in a mock toast before sitting down in the sand. Oikawa looks toward the horizon wistfully— it’s housing the colour of twilight, forever suspended in the time of day where everything blurs. He sits down next to Hinata, watches him watch as Iwaizumi does the heavy lifting with ease, throwing the driftwood into the pit and chucking in a lit match. The fire fans in shades of green and blue, too magical to be considered real and too common of a seaside anomaly to capture Oikawa’s attention.

Even then, Hinata is enraptured by the flames, by the way Iwaizumi never belittles him for staring, enamoured with how everything ebbs steady like the tide crawling back over their toes, swiping away their empty bottles when they aren't watching.

“On my side, we don’t have anything like this,” Hinata says to no one in particular, tipping the last of the liquid onto his tongue. “The cliff has stairs running down one side, but they shift in high tide. There aren't any hidden coves, either. I’ve checked.”

The tide rushes cold on their feet, dims the fire to a steady flicker. “I can mend the stairs if you need,” Iwaizumi offers. “Just let me know.”

Hinata’s eyes widen, and it seems as if the surprise comes more from the act of kindness than Iwaizumi offering. The fires snuffs out, moon shining the last kinds of light down on them as the water pushes forwards.

In the end, they fall asleep in Iwaizumi’s living room, not even making it back upstairs before crashing onto the couches. Their legs are wet, and their skin is chilled despite the flush across their cheeks. When they wake, it’s to covers draped over top of their bodies and to the sound of coffee already made.

—

**_Summer, 2003_ **

 

Iwaizumi sits at the pier, legs submerged into the water. He’s fishing for lack of anything to do, sending down crab baskets and waiting for the traps to set. It’s early morning, too early for him to justify being awake when there’s no fishing boats coming in, no school to wake up for. The break allows for summer to ring hot and humid through the air, making the mornings lighter and the nights brighter, giving Iwaizumi no excuse to stay inside. The summer makes everyone sleepy, including Iwaizumi, and he wishes he’d brought a cup of coffee to keep his eyes from drooping. If anything, the cool of the water around his legs keeps him awake enough to see.

The calm of the morning is broken by the sound of bike tires running across the boardwalk. Iwaizumi turns to wave to the passing Hinata, who removes the hands off his bike to wave back, expression almost starstruck as he whizzes by to where Iwaizumi only can assume is the bakery. Iwaizumi’s smile stays on his face as he turns back to the water, toeing the rope of the crab baskets as he kicks his feet.

It’s another twenty or so minutes of sitting idle until he hears footsteps approaching. Oikawa walks down the pier with box of something sweet smelling in his hands, smiling much too happily down on Iwaizumi as he moves to sit beside him.

“I stopped by the bakery to hang out with Hinata,” Oikawa says, opening the box and pulling out a slice of milk bread. “He was working though, so I couldn’t hang around. God, he’s so adorable.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow, pulling out a muffin from the box. It’s unlike Oikawa to show genuine interest in something, or someone, in the town. It’s been that way since they were little. His head was always tipped to the stars, the horizons of his vision bigger than the roses along the path. Oikawa slips his legs into the water next to him, splashing the salt water onto his clothes.

Fact: Oikawa likes Hinata.

Iwaizumi knows this because it’s all he hears about. Oikawa thinks about Hinata like a regular person thinks about the sun: in passing, revelling when it shines, noting when it doesn’t. He deals in the greys and maybes of chasing after a kid they’ve technically known all their lives and yet not known at all, in becoming curious about someone, sharing the little parts of himself and gifting him sea glass and his time. Iwaizumi notices it, in the sharing of his low tide hideout, in the insistence to help him study, in the longing looks and softened exterior when he comes around. It rubs off on Iwaizumi too, making him turn fuzzy at a sight so warm.

Speculation: Hinata likes Iwaizumi. Oikawa knows.

Iwaizumi isn’t sure if the blush when they brush hands or catch eyes is anything to go by, isn't sure if Oikawa is too blinded by his own infatuation to pick up on the way Hinata’s eyes linger on him, bares holes into his back as he stares. Iwaizumi thinks Hinata is interesting in every sense of the word. He’s funny, kind, but there's more than one heart at stake and he’s always been the one with steady hands.

He thinks, _Do something about your stupid crush, Oikawa._

He doesn't say it.

Instead, he finishes his muffin (blueberry, sweet) and moves to hoist the crab basket from the water, kneeling on the dock and lifting the soaked rope. His hands are used to the burn, callouses thick like sandpaper and rough, born from his mother and father’s, from their mother and father’s, from a lifetime and lifeline of people who worked with their hands and their hearts. As he pulls, Oikawa begins to speak.

“Have you thought about what you’re doing when high school ends?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi’s hands on the rope almost slip at the question, but he keeps his pace steady and manages to yank the basket back onto the dock, crabs and all.

“Not really, but there isn’t much to think about,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’m going to captain my own fishing boat, take over once my folks can’t do the lifting anymore. I want to fix up some of the buildings in town, too. Maybe make a little playground by the edge of the forest.” The crabs scuttle in the basket, and Iwaizumi ties it down to keep it from tipping over. “We don’t have the money for me to go to university either, and it’s not like I need to anyways.”

Oikawa hums, dragging his toes through the waves. “I’m gonna go to uni.”

“Of course you are,” Iwaizumi scoffs. “You’re the smartest kid in the school, and you aren't the only one who’s going. If you’re worried about losing touch, you shouldn't be. It’s only a half hour away.”

Iwaizumi is talking about the closest school in the neighbouring town, where the main port for ocean vessels resides. The tuition isn’t high enough that small town parents will cry, but it’s nothing to blink away when you’ve spent your entire life trading and gifting different things you own.

“I’m not worried about losing touch, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice lightens, his smile curving upwards. “I’m wondering how mom and dad will react.”

“Oikawa, they expect you to continue with school,” Iwaizumi says, furrowing his brow. “I don’t really think they’d get mad unless you chose some random study, like blanket weaving or something.”

The waves continue to lap at the pier, and Oikawa pulls his legs from the water and brings them closer to his chest. “My parents expectations don't mean shit,” he muses. “I could go to Antarctica and build a replica of the Sky Tree and come home with the Nobel Prize and they’d point out how I’ve never been to Tokyo.”

Iwaizumi cracks a smile, laughing. “Well, good thing that’d never happen. You hate the cold,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You have a few more months before you have to pick a major, you’ll be fine. Even then, you can change your mind.”

Iwaizumi watches as whatever humour was in the air dissipates, Oikawa’s smile turning bitter, eyes turning cool. Oikawa rises to a stand, swatting a mosquito from his arm before slipping back on his shoes and making his way back up the pier.

“Keep the muffins,” he calls back. “I’m headed to the library.”

_Let it go free—_

Iwaizumi wants to reply, but the basket of crabs begins to shake again, and his attention moves from that of his best friend to what meal he might be having tonight. His hand scrapes against the metal of the basket, cutting open the side of his arm and leaving the ocean salt to rub into it, sea spray taking no mercy on mortal wounds. Gritting his teeth, he washes the running blood with the water, hissing at the sting as he wraps his wrist in his shirt. In the end, it’ll fade to another scar among the others, another memory he won’t quite be able to place.


	2. chapter one: gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2009.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all who left comments on the first part!!! im excited to totally switch up the time line completely and leave you all hanging so i hope you enjoy this!!!

** _Summer, 2009_ **

 

Summer break looms overhead alongside stretched sunrises and cicada beetles, the ever present heat on Hinata’s skin and the warmth of the sun’s rays. There’s one last day of instruction before the break officially starts, meaning he has one last day to ride his bike down the switchbacks by his clifftop home, across the boardwalks and through town, back up towards the school. Hinata brakes as he comes upon the start of the boardwalk, noting how high tide has risen enough to peek through the boards, and the dread of passing over the floodgate comes even before he realizes he has a reason to slow down.

Iwaizumi Hajime has come back from sea, boat tied to the pier, ten different hands working to hulk the morning’s catch to the market. Hinata slows his pedaling as he approaches, Iwaizumi’s helpers carrying the fish back towards the town as he continues to tighten the ropes holding the boat to dock. Hinata rolls closer towards the small floodgate, repeating to himself _don't stare, don't stare, don't stare, don't stare._

(He stares.)

He can’t blame himself, really. Iwaizumi is pulling off his shirt, exposing toned abs glistening with sweat— Hinata knows he still sounds like a hormone crazed teenager, but Iwaizumi’s biceps are flexing, his back turning to Hinata as he moves to throw the netting back into the ship. He’s gorgeous in the summer sunlight, face relaxed, eyes warm like ginseng green tea and honey, everything home-like and soft around the edges. Hinata is so focused on memorizing the way the light cascades off of his shoulder blades that he forgets to accelerate at the floodgate, meaning he catches his bike’s tires in the old, uneven boards of the dock, winching the tires and sending him into the salt water.

The first thought that hits him is _at least it’s not winter._ The water is cool, sends a chill up his spine, but his muscles far from freeze as he bobs back up to the surface, gasping in surprise at the fall and in effort to return some oxygen to his brain. The current is fairly strong, and although Hinata is a good swimmer, he can feel himself struggling to stay in place in his current attire. He doesn't have enough time to panic at the impending crash into the pier, however, because Iwaizumi has already rushed over, grabbing Hinata by the underarms and hoisting him up out of the water and back onto the dock.

Hinata heaves slightly once he reaches dry land, shock wearing off to heavy limbs as the exhaustion hits him. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but he’s soaking wet and is definitely going to be late for work, and now Iwaizumi Hajime is kneeling beside him, worriedly taking his pulse and pushing his wet hair from his eyes.

“Christ, are you alright?” Iwaizumi asks, sitting back onto his heels to give Hinata some space. “Those boards need to be fixed, they’ve been rotting for years.”

Hinata can feel a blush already heating his face, too stunned to speak. The concern on Iwaizumi’s face softens the frown lines by his mouth, makes him somehow look more beautiful than he already is. Hinata snaps himself out of the daze when he realizes he’s staring, clears his throat and wrings out the water from his shirt.

“I’m okay, but my bike...” Hinata says, looking back over to where he has fell. The bike was likely already resting at the bottom by now, where fish would make home in it’s wheels and the soft wicker of the basket. Hinata almost grieves the loss of it more than the impending death of his cell phone, forgotten in his pocket and well past waterlogged.

Iwaizumi nods knowingly, helping Hinata to a stand. “I have some extra clothes on the boat. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be better than what you have on now,” he offers.

Hinata thinks about wearing Iwaizumi’s clothes, several sizes too big and smelling like his cologne.

“Yeah, that'd be great,” Hinata mumbles, following Iwaizumi towards his boat.

The vessel in question is an ashy brown colour with a deck that could use a good clean and a small cabin where the captain’s area is. Iwaizumi enters first, easily stepping over the rail without need to open it. He holds it open for Hinata, however, extends a hand to help him up. Hinata only stumbles a little, managing not to slip on the slick floor. Really, he’s focusing more on the flush of his cheeks and the warmth of Iwaizumi’s hand, rough against the skin on his own.

The clothes Iwaizumi lends him are much too big— a soft, long sleeved shirt, a pair of sports shorts he has to roll four times to fit around his waist. Hinata spends a moment longer than needed in the little lounge area of the boat. It’s been ages since he’s been inside here. Iwaizumi’s still got the same worn blanket thrown over the couch, still has the little line of polaroids tacked onto the wall. Hinata feels compelled to look at them, to look for the memories frozen in time. It’s only once he’s brushed his hands on the twine that he swallows the nostalgia he isn't ready to face, turning around and jogging back up to the main deck.

Iwaizumi is there waiting for him, forearms resting on the rail of the boat. Hinata tries not to stare— Iwaizumi has put a shirt on now, and Hinata isn't sure if he’s upset or relieved. As he approaches, Iwaizumi turns to face him, softened smile on his lips as he looks him up and down.

“Sorry they’re a little unprofessional,” he says with a soft laugh. “And big. I wish I had shoes that’d fit you.”

“It’s alright,” Hinata smiles, shifting his weight to his right side, the water in his shoes squelching uncomfortably. The two stare at each other for a few more moments, and Hinata finds nothing but softness and quiescent feelings of home in the warm greens of his eyes. It’s only after the caw of a crow breaks the silence that Hinata remembers he has a class to teach.

“Crap,” he mutters. “I’m gonna be late, aren't I?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Probably. I can walk the way with you,” he offers.

“No no no, you don't need to,” Hinata insists.

“Really, it’s no problem, I have to drop the crabs off at the market on the way,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Just let me pull them up and we can be on our way.”

It’s all the convincing Hinata needs to be escorted on his walk to the school, Iwaizumi with a bucket of crabs under one arm, Hinata beside him, answering his questions with ease. It’s been awhile since they've talked like this, without nostalgias or remember whens, with just two people sharing laughter and conversation. Hinata likes it, likes the way it makes his tummy fizzle.

“So, how has your first term of teaching gone?” Iwaizumi asks him after dropping off the crabs at the market.

“Really well!” Hinata exclaims. “I always hated school, but now I love it. Weird, huh? I’m trying to teach them how I wish I was taught. Less textbook, at any rate.” He looks over towards the horizon and the now high sun in the sky. “It’s nice to be back in town full time. Commuting from the university in the town over was a drag. It’s so much nicer here.”

“The port there is too busy,” Iwaizumi comments. “All the big companies go through there. You never strike me as someone who likes solitude, but since your mom and sister moved into town—”

“I know! I own the house on the cliff now. It needs fixing up, but it’s home, y’know? Mom and Natsu just needed something a little closer to the bakery,” Hinata babbles. “One of your aunties invited me to lunch the other day, wouldn’t stop talking about you. She’s got a kid in my class.”

“My aunts are so chatty, I am so sorry,” Iwaizumi groans.

“N-no, it’s cute!” Hinata stammers. “I like hearing about you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you more, but I got busy with school and now with this job so…”

He trails off, not knowing what to say. Of course they’ve spoken, but never how they used to. Iwaizumi got busy with his fishing boat, Hinata got busy with school. Things change, like seasons and weather and the tides, but here they are, walking side by side, Hinata in Iwaizumi’s clothes, feeling warm despite the water still soaking his feet.

They’ve reached the school by now, and Hinata stands at the entrance, facing Iwaizumi with a hopeful kind of anticipation in his chest. It flutters, makes him feel lightheaded as Iwaizumi rubs that back of his neck and looks away.

“Do you maybe, if you want to, come over for dinner?” Iwaizumi asks. Hinata notes the way he flicks his eyes from the floor to his face when he asks, the red heat on his cheeks as he speaks.

Hinata’s eyes widen at the proposition, and it’s all he can do to say _yes_ without swallowing his tongue when he sees the look of happiness on Iwaizumi’s face at his acceptance.

“Six thirty then,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye!” Hinata chimes, waving as he moves to enter the school. Once the door is closed behind him, he sighs, heavy and dazed. It’s only as he hears the bell ring, signalling the start of class, that he remembers to dash to his classroom and start the day.

—

Iwaizumi’s little house is in a duplex near the markets, with a small kitchen and living room on the first floor and a bedroom upstairs. It’s not much— the blue paint on the walls has begun to chip and there’s three cracked tiles in the washroom alone, but it’s the little home he’s made for himself, and he loves it either way.

Iwaizumi pushes the door open with his shoulder, hands filled with cloth bags of fresh produce from the markets. He kicks the door shut behind him, already hearing the pitter-patter of his dog’s feet at the sound of him entering. Iwaizumi smiles as he approaches, wagging his tail as Iwaizumi maneuvers his way to the kitchen.

“Hey buddy,” Iwaizumi says. “Let me set these down first, yeah?”

His dog barks in reply, staying beside him and Iwaizumi sets down his bags on the counter. After taking a moment to pause and scratch his dog’s ears, Iwaizumi moves to refill his food and water dish before setting out to start dinner.

The windows are open, leaving the summer breeze to blow through, soft and warm like breath on the collarbone. Iwaizumi hums as he washes the carrots, listening to the sounds of the sea and the birds that sing into the breeze. It’s quiet, with the soft yawns of his dog, the dull clunk of the knife against the cutting board, the water boiling on the stove. Iwaizumi times his breathing with the wind, keeping the bubble of nervousness from creeping out of his chest.

Although they managed to still talk when Iwaizumi left high school, the last few years made any interactions few and far between, what with Hinata being in teacher’s college and starting his new job. It didn't mean that Iwaizumi stopped smiling when he watched him pass by every morning from the pier, but it meant that whatever curiosity Iwaizumi had always held when it comes to Hinata was only increased by the distance.

Of course, everything changed that one spring. Iwaizumi never really expected it to be the same after that.

It’s as he’s finishing putting the food into two bowls that he hears the front door creak. Iwaizumi’s dog perks up at the sound of the handle turning, and Iwaizumi bites his lip to contain the smile at seeing Hinata Shouyou walk through his door.

“Hello— oomf!” he exclaims as Iwaizumi’s dog jumps onto him. Iwaizumi drops the pan back onto the stove and moves to the front of the room where Hinata lays on the floor, laughing like a child as his dog licks his face.

“Bok Choy, down!” Iwaizumi calls, barely restraining a laugh of his own. The dog sits on Hinata for a moment longer before getting up and trotting off to the kitchen, leaving Iwaizumi to help Hinata back up.

“You made it,” Iwaizumi says in lieu of greeting, eyes flicking over Hinata’s clothes. It’s nothing fancy— a soft white sweater, blue shorts, but it’s classic and beautiful and drowns Hinata’s small frame. Iwaizumi chides himself for being a romantic at heart, hopes that his blush doesn't give him away.

“Of course I did.” Hinata smiles. “Your dog is named after a vegetable?”

“My cousins named him,” Iwaizumi explains. “Come in, I just finished making supper.”

Hinata nods, following Iwaizumi to the kitchen table where the food lies. Iwaizumi watches him cross his legs in the chair. The meal is, for the most part, silent. Hinata enthusiastically and excitably scarfs down his food, giving Iwaizumi a chance to examine the little freckles across his cheeks, the feathery like softness of his hair, the tan glow of his skin. He takes Hinata’s silence as a compliment to his cooking, drums his finger on the wood of the table and listens to the birds sing.

“You get to school on time?” Iwaizumi asks him after awhile.

Hinata nods, swallowing what he had in his mouth. “Yes! The students all made me tell them why I had wet hair, and now half of them are convinced I’m a mermaid.” He lifts his chopsticks halfway to his mouth before pausing and looking up at Iwaizumi. “They wanna meet you, too. Called you my knight in shining armour and everything.”

Iwaizumi huffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s sweet of ‘em,” he mumbles with a blush.

Hinata nods, shoveling more food in his mouth before stopping suddenly, narrowing his eyes and looking up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes.

“Wait,” he says, finishing his plate. “Is that an _accent_ I hear?”

Iwaizumi coughs, choking on his drink. “S-sorry?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve picked up that dialect from the old guys,” Hinata laughs. Iwaizumi’s blush further betrays him, and Hinata’s grin widens. “This is amazing!”

“S’not my fault,” Iwaizumi says, voice gruff as he stands up, grabbing their empty bowls.

“Iwaizu- _mi_ , don’t worry,” Hinata says, tone teasing and sweet. “I-it’s nice.”

The stutter on his words as he says the latter makes Iwaizumi almost drop the plates in the sink. He flicks his eyes back over to Hinata, noticing how his blush almost match his hair in colour. It’s surprising, his cheek and his quick tongue, how they’re both laughing at the absurd nature of the situation.

They were such a huge part of each other’s lives for so long, time stretching that bond to its thinnest. Now, years older, with laugh lines and new scars among the old, they stand in each other’s presence, just as at home in their laughter as they were before.

And so words are exchanged— meaningless, really— questions of _how’re the steps by your house, school, work, do you still play guitar?_ All the answers lay out in the open, both already knowing the answers. It feels more like Hinata just wants to hear him speak, egging him on to tell stories of fishing trips and the ones that got away, how the line always snags in one place and where the best places to find fish are. The last question, of course, is nothing but that. Hinata is lying across his couch, eyeing the acoustic guitar that leans against the wall with childlike curiosity and a coy smile that Iwaizumi can’t deny.

So he asks _d’you want me to play?_ Hinata says _yes_ in an instant, scooting closer to him to watch with fascination at something Iwaizumi does so often it has become mundane. The joy of hearing the music, the radiance of fondness that radiates in waves from Hinata’s skin, the out of time, breath hitching sing-along beat that makes Iwaizumi’s chest tighten and his breaths shorten; somehow it all makes it seem a little more like magic then something he’s been doing for as long as he could remember. It’s an old song, from before either of them were born, with a 6/8 beat and a hook Iwaizumi forgets the words to. Nonetheless, he makes new lyrics in his mind, writes stupid poetry on how nice it is to feel young again with an old friend sitting right beside him, drinking spiked ice tea and admiring the callouses on his hands.

By the time Hinata’s begun blinking away sleep, the lights outside have dimmed through peach sunsets to navy, leaving nighttime to wrap around the seaside town. Iwaizumi sets aside his guitar, offers Hinata a ride back in his pickup truck, which Hinata accepts with a soft smile and a sleepy yawn. Iwaizumi helps him off the couch, letting him lean onto his shoulder as they walk down the steps to where Iwaizumi had parked. Hinata sighs soft and warm as Iwaizumi holds open the door for him, crawls over the center console to the passenger's seat. He curls up in the seat, tucking his feet underneath himself as the truck groans to life, lighting the cab amber.

Hinata cracks his window down, letting the breeze from the ocean blow through. Iwaizumi watches from the corner of his eye as Hinata rests his chin on the ledge, hair whipping around his face as the wind shifts. It smells like seaside towns always do— fish, seaweed, salt that you can never fully scrub from your skin. Hinata bathes in it, in the moon’s glow and in every orange beam from every rickety street lamp. Iwaizumi wants to tear his eyes from the road and let them explore every tan line on Hinata’s skin, wants to compare the stars to the freckles that are flecked across his shoulders and on his cheeks, wants to ask if the feeling of reliving teenage fantasies is mutual. Does Hinata feel the same way? Is the double time rhythm of his pulse shared with the boy with wonder still trapped in his eyes and a smile that sparkles like everything bright?

Iwaizumi finishes driving through the town and up the switchbacks that climb the little cliff Hinata’s house is perched on. He stops at the end of the driveway, turns the key and lets the ignition simmer to a stop. Hinata sighs heavy, tilting his head to face Iwaizumi with a coy smile, bright, with newfound confidence shining through his eyes.

“Are you gonna be a gentleman and walk me to the door?” he asks, and his eyes twinkle with a shy kind of mischief that makes Iwaizumi’s heart stutter. He nods wordlessly, hopping out of the cab to open the door for Hinata and help him down, a hand on his arm and a hand on his waist. Once the door is closed, Hinata makes no move to lean away, so Iwaizumi slips their hands together, Hinata’s so small in his own, walks side by side with him until they reach Hinata’s front door.

In the distance, a fog horn blares, muted over the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliff. Hinata turns to look out at the ocean, smiling as the nearby lighthouse casts it’s light onto the ship.

“Will you ever take me on a boat ride?” Hinata asks wistfully, tracing the ship’s pass with his eyes. “Bring me to sea, show me the sights.”

“I’d love to,” Iwaizumi says, and miraculously the words don’t get tangled on the knot in his throat. “It’ll be a date.”

He’s caught Hinata off guard now, and he can tell by the rise of pink onto his cheekbones and the way his eyes widen. “A date,” he whispers in response, looking up at Iwaizumi with unadulterated excitement in his eyes. “I’ll see you then.”

Iwaizumi watches him slip his hand from his grasp, disappearing behind the closed door. He wonders if this is what love feels like. He wonders if his heart will ever make a steady tempo again.

—

Now, without a bike to ride to school, Hinata wakes up twenty minutes earlier the next Monday, with a book bag filled only partially with books, walks the steep trail instead of biking the switchbacks like usual. The shortcut is one he used to take as a kid, and he knows every twist like it was mapped onto his skin, knows when to skid down the rocks and when to dig his heels into the dirt to keep himself from stumbling. He makes it down without tripping once, a feat that, on a regular day, he would be proud of. Today, however, his mind fills only with excitement as he skips down towards the docks, walking parallel to where Iwaizumi stands on the pier, hoisting crab baskets from the water.

And, Hinata knows he’s said it a thousand times but the water sparkles against Iwaizumi’s skin and he is beautiful. It isn’t even that bright out, the sun barely burning through morning clouds, and yet some kind of light manages to shimmer like fish scales on Iwaizumi’s arms. It’s different now— because Hinata doesn't try to look while passing by. Now, he stops dead in his tracks, wanders down the pier, waits with expectant eyes and a swell larger than the one breaking when Iwaizumi turns his way.

“Good morning,” Hinata breathes, and it’s too soft for his liking, but Iwaizumi smiles wide and warm at the greeting. “I made muffins— carrot. You always said they were your favourite.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes light up at the offer. He nods, wiping his hands off on his jeans as Hinata rummages through his book bag to pull out one of the muffins. Iwaizumi accepts it with a quiet _thank you,_ taking a bite while balancing the crabs over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” he muses. “Can I walk you to the school? I need to drop these off at the market, but it’d be nice to have someone to go with.”

Hinata nods, corners of his mouth pulling up towards his ears. It takes all of the courage in him to reach for his hand, to slip their fingers together and walk hand in hand back down the dock, towards the little paved paths of town. He’s rewarded with a tight squeeze from Iwaizumi, calluses rough against his palm, rubbing like a constant reminder of the work he does for a living.

Hinata knows Iwaizumi isn’t much for conversation in the mornings, so he keeps the silence pleasant, hums to the tune of the mockingbirds and shore. Hinata hasn’t got much of a voice for singing, but he can hold a breathy tune if it means keeping the gentle peace he would never be one to break. Iwaizumi looks down at him, adoring, and Hinata can feel the music being lost to simple shyness as they approach the market. It never takes Iwaizumi long to drop things off to the vendors— they shake his hands, exchange smiles and a few paper bills before leaving them on their way. Hinata waves to the familiar faces, spotting his sister’s head peaking out from the bakery window. She sticks her tongue out at him before being told off by his mother, who wears an affectionate smile on her face as they pass.

“Your mother is so kind,” Iwaizumi tells him. “She always gives me free bread. She says it’s extra, but I don’t know if I believe her.”

“I gave you free muffins,” Hinata pouts, and it earns him a booming laugh and a hand that rustles his hair. It makes Hinata grin, lean all his weight Iwaizumi’s side as they walk the hill the school perches upon.

It’s not like they're relearning each other— just noting the changes. Iwaizumi walks him to his classroom like he would as a teen, looking at the new bulletin boards and the same little scratches of names into door frames. Neither mentions how somewhere, there’s a rock in the courtyard with their names on it. Neither mentions how the other name there isn’t one that they’ve uttered in a long time.

The door to Hinata’s classroom is already opened, and Iwaizumi hesitates at the doorway as Hinata walks on through. Hinata looks over his shoulder, beckoning him in with an enthusiastic wave. Iwaizumi walks in cautiously, as to not step on the few toys scattered on the ground. He’s greeted by a few small gasps that make him jump in surprise as half a dozen kids run towards him, with curiosity clear in their eyes and excitement pronounced in the loudness of their voices. Iwaizumi widens his eyes as the kids cling to his legs, tugging on his pants with rapid fire questions.

“Are you the fisherman that Hinata-sensei always talks about?”

“Did you _really_ save Hinata-sensei from sharks?”

“Aren’t you Eiji’s uncle?”

“Have you ever seen a mermaid?”

Iwaizumi lets out a stunned laugh, back-pedalling slightly so that he has some room to crouch down. “Unless Hinata talks ‘bout other fishermen, then yes, I’m him. No, I didn’t save him from sharks. Yes, I am his uncle, and no, no mermaids I remember seeing.”

“You talk funny!” a kid with dark red hair exclaims.

“Akio!” Hinata cries. “Remember when we talked about manners?”

The kid— Akio— groans, flopping onto the ground. “But it’s true!”

Iwaizumi chuckles, looking up at Hinata’s embarrassed face with a grin. “It’s alright. It’s an accent I picked up from the older fishermen.”

“Okay, let's give him some space,” Hinata says, clapping his hands together. The kids quickly disperse, attention captured by other things, leaving Hinata to stare sheepishly at Iwaizumi as he rises to a stand.

“Sorry about that. They’ve been dying to meet you since I came in soaking wet,” Hinata apologizes.

“It’s fine, you don't need to worry. I’m used to it, with my family and all,” he assures him. Hinata nods, exhaling heavy in relief. Iwaizumi watches him smile, eyes shifting from the floor to his face. They stay silent for a few more moments before Iwaizumi remembers that Hinata has places to be and things to do.

“So, after school today? We can meet at the docks,” Hinata tells him. “You promised me a second date.”

Iwaizumi feels his face heating rapidly as he nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll meet you here then,” he promises him, looking away for a moment. “That okay?”

“Of course,” Hinata grins, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I’ll see you then.”

When Iwaizumi arrives back in town, it’s with a tingling feeling in his chest, the same of that as a schoolboy with a crush. Covering his face with his hands, he grins into his palms, inexplicably happy and undeniably in love.

—

The end of the school day couldn’t come fast enough for Hinata, between the childlike gossip of his students about Iwaizumi, to the excitement that refused to keep his heartbeat steady. He’s not sure where his confidence came from in regards to Iwaizumi, but thinks it could be rooted in how at home he feels when he thinks about being held in his arms, how the nostalgia that sweeps through him steals his breath and makes him feel half a decade younger whenever Iwaizumi laughs. As the kids pair off to walk home with their siblings or parents, Hinata stands in the courtyard, spotting Iwaizumi, who stands under the old cherry tree. With a sigh of relief and the buzz of adoration bubbling in his stomach, he makes his way over, practically skipping as he grips onto his bag.

“Hey,” he breathes, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide. “You came.”

Iwaizumi links their arms together, as if he were escorting him to a dance and not through a small fishing town. “Of course I did. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Hinata chokes on his own spit, having forgotten that Iwaizumi could be suave without meaning to. With shaky hands, he slips his fingertips down the toned muscles of Iwaizumi’s forearm to grasp his hand, threading their fingers together as they descend the hill and make their way towards the docks. Hinata can’t help but tug Iwaizumi along, practically dragging him with enthusiasm to his own boat, looking forward to the prospect of riding across the waves with Iwaizumi.

“Slow down there,” he laughs from behind him, warm and rumbling like summer thunder. “You don’t know where you’re headed.”

“Yes I do!” Hinata calls back. “I’ve been biking past your fishing boat for like, over ten years!”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, slowing his pace and pulling Hinata close, resting his hands on his hips. “Shou, we’re not using the fishing boat,” he tells him. “We’re gonna use my dad’s sailboat.”

Hinata’s eyes widen in shock, frozen in place as Iwaizumi smiles wide at his surprise. “We’re going sailing?” he whispers, grin stretching even wider.

Iwaizumi nods, cheeks brushed with red. “The weather is perfect for it. Not too sunny, good wind speeds—”

“Then what are you stalling for?” Hinata says with mischief in his eyes, mixed in with the glee. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He’s met with the sight of Iwaizumi swallowing thickly, nodding while intertwining their fingers once more, walking him down the pier where the sailboat floats, decal chipping off, paint chipping from use. Hinata’s only gone sailing once before, in the exact same boat, and it looks the same as it did then. Running his fingers over the edge of the stern, he’s caught off guard when Iwaizumi places two hands on either side of his waist, hoisting him up into the boat. He yelps, laughing as his feet touch down on the base. Iwaizumi works on untethering the boat from the dock as Hinata moves up to the bow, sitting cross legged at the very front as Iwaizumi tosses the fenders back, handing Hinata the extra rope and jumping in himself.

They motor out into open water, putting along at a fair speed for a few minutes. Hinata lets the wind rip through his hair, holds on white knuckled to the bar as he squints his eyes in the bluster. Even with the humidity that bogs down the air, he shivers, salty sea spray splashing him, cooling in the wind. His laughter is muted in the noise, hardly audible to his own ears. Looking back over his shoulder, he catches Iwaizumi’s eyes, as bright as his own, staring full with adoration.

Eventually, he slows the boat to a halt, stopping to release the sails now that they’d made open water. Hinata scrambles from his place at the bow to climb onto the top of the cab, helping Iwaizumi undo the ropes that tie the sails together. Once released, they billow, ripping side to side before catching the stream. Iwaizumi tightens the sails once more, steering them into the right direction. Hinata slips down from where he was perched, tiptoes his way back to the bow to watch the waves lap at the boat.

It’s peaceful and thrilling at the same time— a feeling Hinata can’t make sense of even if he tried. Instead, he gives himself away to the emotion, lets it numb every appendage, lets it slave him to the beat of his heart and the drawing allure of Iwaizumi’s eyes as they look out at the sea. Suddenly, Hinata isn’t watching the water anymore, changing his focus to Iwaizumi and how the brown of his skin blends soft against the navy of the water around him. Two parts softness, one party rough— Iwaizumi’s biceps strain as he holds the ropes, face relaxed as if the stress were nothing. Biting his lip, he smiles towards Hinata, who’s moved to lounging sideways across the bow, tilting his body to face Iwaizumi.

“What’re you doing?” Iwaizumi shouts over the waves.

“Admiring the view!” Hinata shouts back. There’s the faintest ghosting of a smirk on Iwaizumi’s lips as he rolls his eyes, so incredibly fond as he steers the boat with a single hand, using the other to blow Hinata a kiss. Immediately flustered, Hinata does his best to catch it, laughing as he sends one in return. He wonders if the blush on his cheeks is as red as it feels. He wonders if Iwaizumi can notice it.

Eventually, they anchor in a small bay, Iwaizumi folding down the sails so they can rest. Hinata combes his wind strewn hair back into place, moving towards where Iwaizumi is, leaning against the cab. Hinata cautiously makes his way closer, stumbling in attempt to regain his balance, only slipping within the last foot of him. Iwaizumi is quick to scoop him up into his arm, pulling him up from the floor to stand upright. The two of them can’t help but stare at each other, silent laughter evident in the crinkles of crow's feet at the corners of Iwaizumi’s eyes, the strain of his cheeks, and _god_ , Hinata revels in his beauty, brushes the back of his hand over his cheek as if to make sure he’s real.

“You done fallin’ for me yet?” Iwaizumi asks, voice warm, encompassing and low. Hinata melts, but smiles, quirks the corners of his lips and tilts his head.

“Don’t know, will you still be there to catch me?”

There’s half a beat of a pause when Iwaizumi’s eyes shimmer, when the wind blows in a way that wafts the scent of his cologne so that Hinata can smell it, half a second before Iwaizumi leans down and presses their lips together. Hinata sighs into the kiss, already tugging Iwaizumi closer, rising onto the balls of his feet to match his height. His entire weight is thrown onto him in lack of balance, arms thrown over his shoulders, Iwaizumi’s hands still resting on his waist.

And the question he’s been wondering for years is finally answered - Iwaizumi tastes like salt and sugar, lips softer than they should be as they move slowly against Hinata’s. It’s gentle in a way no one could suspect from the fisherman, from Iwaizumi, but Hinata finds solace in how fitting of an enigma being with him is. Iwaizumi pulls back to breath him in before connecting their mouths again, Hinata’s lip caught between his teeth, and Hinata is giddy with elation, smiling into the kiss because this is everything he’s wanted and more.

When they break, it’s like the tide - slow, ebbing. Iwaizumi presses their foreheads together, wrapping his arms tighter around him as if to make sure he doesn't leave. Hinata doesn't open his eyes at first, but when he does, it’s to be met with Iwaizumi brushing a hand across his cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he whispers, corners of his mouth lifting.

“So have I,” Hinata replies. “What took you so long?”

Iwaizumi leans down, kissing him once more. It’s soft, chaste, and Hinata finds himself chasing the contact as Iwaizumi pulls away.

“Will that make up for it?” Iwaizumi asks.

Hinata giggles, resting his head on his chest. “We’ll see.”

—

** _Winter, 2009_ **

So things change, in a good way.

Hinata doesn't bother buying another bike, choosing instead to walk to school, waiting at the pier for Iwaizumi to join him. Some mornings, he’s still out on the water when he walks by, but on others, he’s already waiting, the day’s catch ready to be dropped off at the market. Hinata’s mother is always happy to hand them something from the bakery when they pass— whether pastries or lemon loaf or muffins to eat on their way towards the school. Iwaizumi tells him about the sea, about how strong or weak the waves were that day, about the monster fish they saw and the one that got away. Hinata indulges every story with wide eyes and curious ears, hanging onto every last word as Iwaizumi tells it.

Summer fades to fall fades to winter, bringing cooler weather and the odd burst of snow that never seems to stick. Iwaizumi is a human furnace, lending Hinata his overcoats he doesn't need when Hinata underestimates the wind outside. The sleeves fall floppy over his hands, and the hem reaches past his knees, wrapping him up in the warmth of the coat and the scent of Iwaizumi. Hinata adores the way Iwaizumi looks at him when he wears his clothes, the wide eyes, the tightened throat. Hinata maybe enjoys it a little too much, but never makes comment on it, instead choosing to hold his hand and rest his head on his arm. As always, Iwaizumi leads him to his classroom, stopping outside of the door. Hinata smiles up at him, reaching up to brush a hand across his cheek.

“I’ll meet you at the market?” Hinata suggests, moving to place his hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“We’re going out a bit longer today, so I may be late,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“That’s okay. I’ll wait at the bakery. Natsu wants me to look at her paintings,” Hinata says. “Stay safe on the water.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth softens into a smile before he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to Hinata’s cheek. “Have a good day, love,” he mumbles, smooth in Hinata’s ear, before taking a step away and waving him goodbye.

Hinata stands dumbfounded for a few moments, pleasantly surprised by the public display of affection that Iwaizumi normally shied away from. He quickly waves back, face red, taking moment to compose himself before entering his classroom. Inside, his students have already taken their seats at their tables, talking amongst themselves until they spot Hinata.

“Hinata-sensei!” one of the kids yells. “Are you and Mr. Fisherman married?”

There’s a course of small gasps around the room, and Hinata feels heat rise from behind his ears again. “N-no, Haruko, we aren’t,” he tells her, desperately trying to keep a look of panic off of his face.

“But Hoshi saw him kiss you on the cheek!” she exclaims.

“That doesn't mean we’re married,” Hinata explains. “Now! Are you excited to do arts and crafts today?”

The question quickly shifts the attention away from him, and in seconds, the students have forgotten the entire fiasco. Hinata can’t help but laugh to himself as he sets up the supplies at each table, explaining different patterns and things they can make. It’s cute— embarrassing beyond belief, but cute— how fascinated with Iwaizumi they are. Hinata nearly drops the fake flowers he was glueing, too distracted replaying that moment in his head. It’s almost too good to be true, and the buzz of happiness doesn't lift from his chest for the entire day.

—

Iwaizumi has taken to heading to Hinata’s home on Friday’s, using his spare key to enter before he’s even got home. Usually, he works on making dinner, cleaning, or simply reads whatever book he’s picked up, but today, Hinata insisted on them making dinner together. Knowing Hinata will pick up ingredients on the way home, Iwaizumi chooses to open up the windows, filling up the watering can and watering all of the indoor plants Hinata sometimes forgets about. Gardening calms him, even when it’s indoors, making sure that the flowers haven't wilted and that no leaves have turned yellow. He’s almost finished when his phone goes off from the counter, shrill sound echoing through the room. Iwaizumi finishes the last plant before crossing the flat and checking the called ID.

_Oikawa Tooru calling…_

Iwaizumi blinks twice at his phone before accepting the call, sitting down at the kitchen stool. “Hello,” he answers, voice wary as usual, but relieved nonetheless.

 _“You actually picked up?”_ Oikawa asks. _“I thought you’d be at sea now.”_

“Then why’d you call? I have plans today, otherwise I would’ve been. Aren't you usually slaving over a million dollar piece of equipment by now?” Iwaizumi drones back.

 _“So melancholy, Iwa-chan. I’m off today. It’s why I decided you may want to chat,”_ Oikawa hums, aloof as ever.

“It’s been three weeks. You must've been busy,” Iwaizumi comments.

 _“When have you ever been interested in my experimental analysis of quantum mechanics?”_ Oikawa asks, and it’s got enough bite to be bittersweet.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Never, because I went to school for a trade. Remember that I never went to university.”

 _“So_ **_boring_** _,”_ Oikawa sighs.

“How’s the city?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa sighs heavy. _“Traffic is shit right now. They’ve been doing construction on this one stretch for ages. Air quality has been going down, but at least I get to wear all of my cute masks.”_

“You don’t sound excited.”

_“It’s same-old, same-old. Bright lights, cold nights, whatever.”_

“No late night lovers?”

Oikawa laughs. _“As if I have time. What have you been doing since you last called?”_

“Oikawa, you’re always the one who called. You never pick up when I do.”

 _“Technicalities. What is it?”_ Oikawa asks, sounding almost bored.

Iwaizumi hesitates. The last time he had called, he hadn’t mentioned Hinata at all. Granted, Oikawa had controlled most of the conversation, but either way it wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to talk about. Iwaizumi knows that he is in love with Hinata, more than anything he knows. It does nothing to dispel the looming truth that Oikawa Tooru is never one to let things go. He bites back the last bits of uncertainty, breathing deeply one more time before telling his childhood friend the truth.

“I’ve been seeing Shouyou for a few months,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady. The hint of fondness that seeps through his tone is accidental, but he couldn’t stop it if he tried. “Since July.”

The line stays quiet for a minute, and Iwaizumi almost thinks that Oikawa has hung up until he hears him cough, shuffling what he assumes to be papers in the background.

 _“That’s— I don’t know what to say,”_ he stammers. _“Congratulations, I guess. You deserve someone like him.”_

“He’s really wonderful,” Iwaizumi confesses. “I don't know how this happened.”

 _“You sound awfully in love,”_ Oikawa muses.

“And you sound— what’s the word you used? Melancholy? Are you sure you’re alright?” Iwaizumi presses.

 _“Now you sound like your mother,”_ Oikawa chides. _“I can’t believe you of all people have a boyfriend.”_

Iwaizumi scowls at Oikawa’s overly peppy change of voice. “Back to normal, it seems.”

 _“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”_ Oikawa asks, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. _“I have to get going, though. No work, but I still have research journals I need to submit.”_

Iwaizumi hears the door open, Hinata calling _I’m back!_ loudly from the front door. “Thanks for calling,” he says, just as the familiar noise of a phone hanging up drones through the receiver.

Hinata bustles into the kitchen, carrying a single cloth bag which Iwaizumi assumes is from the market. He drops it on the counter, scampering over to Iwaizumi to peck him on the lips before moving to unload what he had bought.

“Hey you,” Iwaizumi says, bumping shoulders with him as he takes the peppers from the bag. “How was your day?”

“Noisy,” Hinata whines. “I was anxious to see you. Who were you calling?”

Honesty, Iwaizumi figures, is the better option. “Oikawa,” he replies, looking at Hinata and gauging his reaction.

Amazingly, he hardly freezes up, and if anything, almost withers at the name. “He still calls you?”

“On his own terms. It’s been three weeks since we spoke last, and I don’t think I’ve seen him in a year and a half,” Iwaizumi tells him. Looking into the bag, he pulls out a bustle of apples. “Have the orchards gotten their first batches?”

“Yes!” Hinata exclaims, grasping onto the subject change. “You like apple pie, so I thought we could bake some tonight. I picked up some frozen dough for the crust from my mom and everything.”

Iwaizumi smiles at Hinata’s care, blushes at the sentiment of him thinking of him when shopping. Pushing the cloth bag aside, Iwaizumi turns to kiss Hinata, a hand under his chin to tilt it up towards him. Hinata tenses at first, but relaxes into his touch, kissing back for a few moments before pulling away.

“Let’s cook before we do anything,” Hinata says, smile bright as ever. “I can put on the rice if you chop the vegetables.”

“Deal,” Iwaizumi settles, grabbing the cutting board from the cupboard as Hinata moves to turn on the stove.

He knows his way around Hinata’s house well by now, having memorized where he keeps the dishes and the silverware, the pots and the bread drawer. The kitchen is roomier than his own, with enough space for them both to work comfortably while still being in each other’s sight. Hinata’s got the radio set to an older station, playing something acoustic that cracks through old speakers, filling the otherwise silence with amber noise as they work.

It’s natural, this little routine. Frying the chicken and the vegetables, waiting for Hinata to mix in the spice and the ginger, making shapes out of the food while they stir. Iwaizumi carefully reminds him to check the rice every so often, keeping them both on track as their dinner comes together.

When it’s done, they eat it sitting side by side at Hinata’s little table— the larger one moved to the house his mom and sister live in. As always, Hinata sits cross legged, and Iwaizumi still rests his elbows on the table because no one else is watching, still thanks Hinata for the meal before digging in. There’s never silence when they eat together, Hinata telling stories of his day, of the newest news from the farmers, asking question after question as he gobbles down his meal. Iwaizumi listens and answers every one, watches the excitement move across Hinata’s face at his interest in the conversation.

Once it does finally settle down, after plates have been cleared and dishes have been washed, Hinata lays down atop Iwaizumi’s lap, resting on his chest as Iwaizumi combs fingers through the softness of his ginger hair. Hinata reads a nature magazine, pointing out the different animals and reading aloud the facts that are more surprising. Every so often, Iwaizumi shares a fact that he knows— usually about the marine life, or a story of catching a blue lobster that Hinata’s heard a hundred times. It still enchants him, still brings the stars into his eyes and brightens his face more than Iwaizumi thought possible.

“I like it,” Hinata says, interrupting the ambiance. “Having you here so often. I love it, really.”

“I practically live here at this point,” Iwaizumi hums, using his free hand to draw little circles on the exposed skin of Hinata’s hip.

“Do you want to?” Hinata asks. “Live here, I mean.”

Iwaizumi pauses the motions of his hand on Hinata’s skin, sitting up slight so he can turn him to face him. “Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “You really mean that?”

“Of course,” Hinata smiles. “Home is where you are, after all.”

Iwaizumi can’t keep himself from smiling, can’t keep himself from pressing his and Hinata’s lips together. The kiss is sloppy, and their teeth clash, but neither cares when they're riding off the high of each other, holding one another close without fear of falling through.

Iwaizumi wonders, _how did I get so lucky?_

He doesn't even realize Hinata wonders the same thing.

—

** _Spring, 2010_ **

 

Sunday mornings mean sleeping in, means the lemon scented sheets of his bed— _their_ bed—  are freshly washed, slept in only for a night. Hinata always wakes to strong arms encompassing him, caging him tight adjacent to Iwaizumi’s broad chest. It’s the most ethereal thing he could wake up to. Not the cherry blossoms blooming outside of his window, not the birds singing loud outside, but the face of his sleeping lover, relaxed in a way never quite reflected when he’s awake, giving Hinata all of the time to cherish every part of him.

There are constellations in the acne scars littered on his cheeks, small craters from the memory of chicken pox on his forehead, the little scratches made permanent on his chin. Hinata runs his hands over Iwaizumi's hips, over the stretch marks, white against warm brown skin, watches him shiver as if they are veins to his heart. It isn't often he gets to adore like this, so Hinata _treasures_.

"Hajime," Hinata whispers, half leaning on Iwaizumi. "You can't sleep forever."

Iwaizumi pulls Hinata closer, fluttering his eyes open to meet Hinata's. "I could, if you were t’stay with me.”

Hinata hums, squinting through the morning daylight to watch how the sunrise cascades off of Iwaizumi’s face. He brushes his nose to his chest, breathes in slow and deep, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and salt water and lemon fabric softener. Iwaizumi’s hands move to comb lazily through Hinata’s hair, brushing the waves from root to tip, lulling Hinata into bliss as Iwaizumi rolls over onto him, bracing his thighs on either side of his hips. Hinata lets out a soft _oof_ as Iwaizumi leans down to bump his forehead on his own, eyes transfixed on his.

"You're heavy," Hinata chides, too enamoured to be pouty, looking up at Iwaizumi's emerald eyes.

"You're beautiful," Iwaizumi muses in response. He elicits a blush from Hinata, pink peonies on the apples of peach cheeks. Hinata imagines that if he is like a flower, fluttering, flushing, then Iwaizumi is a tree, reddening, growing roots around boulders and riverbanks. Hinata licks his lips, watches as something shifts in Iwaizumi’s gaze.

“You gonna kiss me?” Hinata asks, _demands_ , smirking as Iwaizumi asks God how he got so lucky. Prayers are received in full, and Iwaizumi finds time to worship the temples of Hinata’s forehead with his lips, venerating every freckle that litters his nose, every dimple on his cheek. Hinata squirms, two parts impatience, one part need as Iwaizumi lifts his weight off of his hips and moves his mouth against his, and all Hinata can do is breathe, _finally_.

Iwaizumi kisses like summer sunshine, low tide and honey, vicious and languid and soft to the touch. Hinata thinks that this is what home would taste like— his boyfriend’s mouth and iron, salt water taffy— the kind of thing you’d call savoury for the sole fact that you never want to let it go. Hinata bites his lip as Iwaizumi pulls away, lids his eyes only halfway and feels a hand trail up the ladder of his rib cage. Iwaizumi is drawn back in, pressing his tongue against Hinata’s and a leg between his thighs, drawing sand dollars and water lilies on the juncture of his hipbone and thigh. Hinata hums in content, lifting his hands in want and bringing them to rest across the broad expanse of Iwaizumi’s shoulders. He plays with the baby hairs on the nape of his neck as Iwaizumi moves his mouth, soft, revering, towards the smooth cut of Hinata’s jaw.

Hinata has no choice but let his breath hitch now, smile dazed as Iwaizumi takes his time pressing opened mouth kisses along where it meets his neck. It sends shivers through his neck, makes him want to curl his toes, makes him arch his back and tilt his neck in a way that asks more than it offers. Iwaizumi looks up at him through eyelashes as he mouths the base of Hinata’s throat, pulling away only once he sees Hinata grinning.

“What’chu laughin’ for,” Iwaizumi mumbles, accent strong as the tide in the mornings.

“Thought I was supposed to be doing the treasuring for once,” Hinata pouts, biting cherry swollen lips as he sits up onto his elbows. “Let me?”

Uncharacteristically compliant, Iwaizumi presses one last kiss to Hinata’s forehead before rolling off him and falling onto his back. The pillows flatten under his head, and Iwaizumi smiles up towards Hinata as he climbs onto his lap, sitting back on his thighs. Hinata sighs in adoration, running his hands over Iwaizumi’s bare chest, taking in every mole, every patch of hyperpigmentation. Leaning forwards, Hinata mouths slowly down Iwaizumi’s jaw, adoring every single hitch of his breath, every single shudder. Iwaizumi groans softly, eyes fluttering closed, arching his back as Hinata rolls his hips against his, both pliant and rough under Hinata’s fingertips.

“Hajime,” Hinata whispers, sitting up to look down at him. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes to lid halfway. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, so quietly Hinata wonders if he even spoke.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Hinata tells him. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes all of the way, sparkling like gemstones and love. He picks up one of Hinata’s hands, so small in the rough palms of his own, and kisses the back of it.

“I love you too, Shouyou,” Iwaizumi mumbles, sitting up to press their foreheads together. “You mean everything to me.”

The promise rings out through the silent room, reverberates like the moans that slip from Hinata’s lips, bounces off of the walls and echoes even as the silence breaks. Gentle pants fill the room, accompanied by a harmony of sighs and whines and the breeze that blows through open windows, blowing their curtains wide. Hinata can hear the ocean, the steady crash of waves, but for now he tunes it out in favour of listening to the tides of Iwaizumi’s breathing, the shallow draw of his chest as it rises and falls.

And somehow, Hinata feels more than he ever has before, feels the very tips of his toes, the small of his back where Iwaizumi’s hand rests, feels every cell in his body electric with emotion and a sensation he can’t quite name. He imagines that it’s something akin to being a holy object, a temple, something radiant and golden. Opening his eyes, Hinata catches the sunlight dance across the warm melanin of Iwaizumi’s skin, catches his eyes and highlights the glow in the green. Hinata takes his time in memorizing every single scar on his biceps, on his arms, the ones that cover his legs from a lifetime of tradesman ship. Hinata presses soft kisses to every single one, not minding the minutes that trickle away or the time it takes to relish in Iwaizumi’s wonder.

Everything happens so much in so little time, and before he knows it, the tides have shifted to an entirely different chapter.

—

The town seems lively on gossip when Hinata makes his way to the school, on his own for once. Iwaizumi is still out with the crew fishing, meaning Hinata walks the hill up to where the school in solitude, listening carefully to how the teachers, waiting outside with their coffee to chat, huddle together, sharing secrets and warmth in the cool March air. Spring is evident in the buds on the trees and the bird calls, in how bright the mornings are, but Hinata still finds himself reaching for Iwaizumi’s jackets to keep him warm.

The school day is relatively simple— Hinata takes his class outside to look at different plants that have begun to sprout, and the principal joins them to watch with a kind smile. In the end, most of his lessons take place outside, the children sitting around him in the grass as he reads, making daisy chains with grass and weeds they’re too young to despise. Hinata accepts each bracelet he’s given as a gift, wearing the delicate floral jewelry around his wrists and ankles.

Nothing changes in small towns - not the people, not the flowers that bloom, not the memories children grow up with. Hinata can recall being the same age as the students he teaches, remembers reading in the courtyard and learning that the flowers drink water and sunlight to survive. The nostalgia seems exceedingly thick today, with the school year nearly finished and the snow thawing memories of the summer before. Hinata soaks up the warmth, lets it bubble in his stomach even as the day draws to a close.

His book bag has torn, meaning he has to carry all of his books in his arms, careful not to knock the stack over as he skids down the hills. The boardwalk always proves a challenge, with loose boards that he loses his footing on. Luckily, nothing falls into the water— a single saving grace. Up the switchbacks, to the top of the cliff his house perches on, Hinata walks, admiring the way spring blooms around him. It brings a welcome shift into a new season, brightens the sky from grey to blue, freshens the air with the smells of new plants.

Hinata pushes open the screen door with his shoulder, toeing off his shoes and kicking the door closed behind him. “Hajime!” he calls, already grinning. “I’m home!”

When he finally makes his way to the kitchen, it’s not to hear the sizzle of food in a pan, nor to see Iwaizumi chopping peppers on the wooden boards. Instead, he’s faced with Iwaizumi’s silhouette staring down at his phone in something almost heartbroken, eyebrows contorted in something almost painful.

“Hajime?” Hinata whispers, taking a step closer. “Is something wrong?”

_If they return—_

_They never were—_

Iwaizumi looks up to look at him, setting the phone down before swallowing the knot in his throat. “It’s Oikawa,” Iwaizumi rasps. “He’s coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhHHHHHH so many questions.... where did oikawa go.... what happened.... pourquoi.......  
> ALSO LITTLE NOTES:  
> iwaizumi is a fisherman and hinata is a school teacher! hinata lives in the same house he grew up in but his mom and sister moved into a flat above their bakery to be closer


	3. chapter two: roche limit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3cc

**_Fall, 2003_ **

 

The summer heat clings on even into late September, and for a season called fall, the leaves refuse to anything of the like. In a fit of defiance of both the weather and the sticky classrooms, Oikawa and Hinata skive off their study period, taking Hinata’s bike down the back roads in the town to avoid being seen. Hinata sits on the handlebars, a feat that is one part terrifying and two parts thrilling. He laughs shrill and high as Oikawa speeds down the dirt hills of the back roads, looking over his shoulder to make sure they don't run into any roots. They weave back towards the edge of the town, where a little gas station/convenience store hybrid lies, liminal and surrounded by the forest. Oikawa screeches the brakes to a halt in front of the building, grabbing Hinata’s waist at last moment to make sure he doesn't fly off.

With a yelp, Hinata hops off, dusting off his shorts as Oikawa fastens his bike to the rack. “Why’d we come here?” he asks as Oikawa kicks open the shop door, blasting him with a gust of sweet, sweet air conditioning.

“Because, Shou-chan, this is the best place to get soft serve ice cream,” Oikawa proudly states.

“The _best_ place?” Hinata repeats incredulously. He’s only half joking— somehow the worn down hole of a store, with a crammed wall full of old magazines and a large cooled drink and snack selection he almost knocks over, would have anything above average.

Oikawa shrugs. “Best that I’ve tried, at least. Vanilla, chocolate, or swirl?”

“Ohh, vanilla.”

“Boring!” Oikawa sings. “I’m getting swirl.”

“Hey!” Hinata exclaims, pushing Oikawa out of the way. “I’m not boring.”

Oikawa laughs, sticking out his tongue playfully as Hinata fills his cone. When it’s his turn, he looks away from the machine to watch Hinata take a bite out of his ice cream, wiping the extra off on the back of his hand. It’s cute, insanely so, how quickly he digs into the treat without a second thought. He’s so distracted watching him that he almost doesn't notice the ice cream overflow onto his hand. _Almost_.

Oikawa hands the cashier the change, paying for Hinata’s ice cream without a second thought. Hinata protests almost immediately, but Oikawa waves him off with a smile, taking in the blush of his cheeks at the sentiment as the two move outside to eat their ice cream in the shade.  

Hinata sits down on the asphalt of the parking lot, leaning up against the wall and closing his eyes, taking comfort in the shade the building offers from the sun. Oikawa plops down beside him, making a perfect object for Hinata to lean on as he continues to eat his ice cream.

“I can’t believe it’s still in the thirties,” Hinata bemoans, taking another lick of his ice-cream. “Summer weather is nice, but it’d be nice if school had AC, y’know?”

Oikawa hums, nodding as he licks a drip off of his cone. “It feels too stagnant when the weather is this warm for this long. I just want autumn to come so I can feel secure that time is actually passing,” he tells him.

“Gwah, so philosophical,” Hinata says. “Of course time is passing. The sun’s already started going down.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa sighs, kicking a stray chunk of asphalt away. “Every day is the exact same, nothing really stands out.”

Hinata leans over, taking a lick of Oikawa’s cone. “S’not really all the same,” he shrugs. “Last year we weren’t friends, and now we are, and I’m happier because of that.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen surprise, his heart fluttering at Hinata’s offhand confession. “You really think that?”

They turn to face each other, and Hinata smiles like sunshine on water, refreshing and bright. “Yeah, why wouldn't I?” he tells him. “I love doing stuff like this together— getting ice cream, studying— it’s… nice? To spend time with you, I mean.”

Oikawa blinks twice, not sure if he was really hearing this. Somehow, the genuine praise forces him to blush, so unlike any of the compliments he’s been given before— empty praise from his parents, the fawns of girls that all sounds the same. Hinata’s words ring true through the humid air, stick to the skin on the back of Oikawa’s neck and carrying with him as they make the trek back to town. Hinata takes his hands off the handlebars this time, reaches far up into the air as if to reach for the sky, and the silence penetrated by the bike tire’s scratch against the gravel and the breeze that passes by is all that is louder than the sound of _him_.

Oikawa is in love, he realizes, speeding down a hill where the pavement begins. Distantly, he wonders how long he’s known.

—

The town library is a tiny thing, really. A few hundred books, containing the famous classics, a section of home improvement guides, children’s books well worn, and textbooks galore, though many of them were outdated. In the corner are two heavy grey computers, in which kids line up to play games on and teens whine to access the internet. Hinata really hasn't been that many times. His mother orders the books she wants to read from a catalogue, and his short attention span keeps him from sitting down long enough to pick out a novel, let alone read it. However, when Iwaizumi mentions he needs to pick something up, Oikawa is first to jump onto the opportunity to visit, and who is Hinata not to join them?

The first thing that hits him when they enter is the scent - thick and musty, a thousand years trapped in thousands of pages. Oikawa nods to the librarian as they enter, flashing the trademark smile he often saves for adults he wants to impress as he passes her a stack of thick books. The library’s five book limit doesn't quite make sense, but it only ever proves challenging to Oikawa, who would probably check out the entire collection if possible.

“ _Scientia potentia est,_ ” Oikawa hums, walking through the unorganized shelves.

“Stop speaking latin,” Iwaizumi grumbles, snatching something off of the upper shelves and checking the cover. “You aren't impressing anyone.”

“You can tell that was latin? I’m supri—” Oikawa starts to tease, earning a punch to the shoulder.

“How do you _both_ know latin? Who even speaks latin?” Hinata whines.

Iwaizumi flips through the little book he grabbed, opening it to a random page. “No one really, except for scientists, because they’re pompous assholes.” He points to a diagram of a periwinkle flower, huddling closer to Hinata to show him. “See, this is called a snapdragon, but its scientific name is antirrhinum,” he tells him.

Hinata’s insides only freeze up a little bit at the closeness of Iwaizumi’s lips to his ears, how their shoulders brush as Iwaizumi flips through the book, pointing out the flowers he likes and the ones that always die too soon. He’s so engrossed with learning about the different plants that he doesn’t notice Oikawa press up against him from the other side, opening up a wildlife magazine and flipping to a page on volcanic lava pools.

“Let me see that,” Iwaizumi says in disbelief, taking it from Oikawa’s hands. “You’re kidding me.”

“Whoa,” Hinata whispers, brushing his fingers over the photographs. “And it just bubbles there? Like some weird magma bathtub?”

Oikawa rests his chin on Hinata’s shoulder. “I thought you two would like that. Isn’t it neat?”

“Y-yeah,” Hinata stutters, face reddening. “Neat.”

Somehow, the three end up sitting in the middle of the aisle, forming a small circle as they flip through various science articles and magazines of varying fields. Oikawa hoards the space books, reading the microscopic print of used university textbooks, glasses slipping down his nose as he reads. Hinata doesn't pick up anything himself, choosing to hover between Iwaizumi’s nature books and Oikawa’s intergalactic studies. Two sides of the same coin, he figures. Down to earth, head in the clouds.

Oikawa is expressive when he reads, emotes comically wild reactions to each sentence that shows in every furrow of his brow, every bite of his lip. Hinata studies his face over the edge of the book he holds, watching the dull lighting of the library wash out his skin, how it makes the bronze of his cheeks seem hollower in the low lighting. It’s still hot enough to warrant having a fan on full blast, but summer has reluctantly begun to leave, albeit kicking and screaming. Hinata feels refreshed from just observing Oikawa, from watching the quirk of his cupid’s bow when he mouths what he reads, the haphazard manner that he shoves his glasses back into place. Distantly, he knows he should be embarrassed for staring— _why is he staring?_ Hinata flicks his eyes back to the book he was reading, stares at the page and reads the same sentence twenty times over.

(It doesn't make sense— something about a canary in a coal mine. _Ugh, poets._ )

In the end, Hinata doesn't borrow anything, and Iwaizumi manages to find the answer to the gardening question he was looking into. Oikawa leaves the library with five heavy textbooks, journals shoved in between to smuggle extra books in one go. If the librarian notices, she doesn't comment, leaving Oikawa with knowledge brimming in his arms and a proud look upon his face that Hinata can’t help but find charming.

—

Home isn’t a place Oikawa always wants to be. The little pseudo modern house that he lives in is subject to his mother’s ridiculous ideas of interior design, his father’s laziness and utter compliance to wreaking havoc in his mother’s territory without care for who reaps the consequences.

(It’s Oikawa. It’s always Oikawa.)

His sister has moved out years ago, living on the other side of town with her soft-spoken husband and their sass monster of a child. Oikawa guesses he could stay with them in theory, but that means giving up and becoming the talk of the town— two things he’d never give up his pride for.

It hits him at arbitrary times, when he comes home to an empty house with no food, when there’s a note stuck to the fridge that reads _get groceries_ with no money attached. Something always ends up blooming in his chest, cloaking his insides in the kind of numbness that feels more like a punch to the gut than anything. He’s not exactly sure where his parents have been for the last few days, but it’s anything but fear that swarms his mind when he imagines them never coming back. Oikawa drinks in the possibility as he walks home, jumping the potholes and manipulated daydreams of being swept away. _They're just daydreams,_ he tells himself, _daydreams and nothing more._ It feels lonelier when he calls them that, makes every step feel weighed down, makes his legs turn to lead.

( _Stupid legs_ , he spits. What does he need them for anyways?)

It’s one of the worst things in his life— this fear that clouds his vision, bogs down any attempt to be normal in any sense. His parents’ love is ruined, and has been for as long as he can remember. He’s never seen them kiss, never heard any exchange of pleasantries besides the formal, never grew up seeing their love work out. And if they, who are his—  as much as he hates to say it— _parents_ can’t love, can he?

The wind chimes are particularly loud today, clanking together in the wind. Oikawa hears them even before he rounds the corner, clanking and ringing through the otherwise silence. It’s too loud for his ears to handle, brash in a way that makes him wince and crunch up his shoulders. He jogs the last little way, eager to duck inside, only to spot his parents’ car parked on the street.

It’s a sinking gut kind of feeling, twisting your insides like a rag kind of feeling, knocking the wind out of you and making you crunch like the wind chimes kind of feeling. Dread fills in Oikawa’s chest, tightens his throat and makes his head swirl as he makes the last few feet to his driveway, pushing open the door and already knowing what to expect.

Silence.

His mom and dad sit in the kitchen, silently eating their meal, forks scratching the plates and sending shivers down Oikawa’s spine. He drops his school bag onto the floor, toeing off of his shoes as he makes his way to the kitchen to face his parents.

“Hello,” he says, smiling as best he can. “How’ve you been?”

His mother shrugs. “I’d be better if you would have helped with dinner.”

“Sorry.”

“You would've found some way to mess it up anyway. You always do. How was school?”

Oikawa feels the tiniest bit of hope bloom in his chest. “I have the top scores out of the entire grade this term,” he says, smiling down at his feet.

His father hums. “That’s nice, but it’s not really important, don’t you think?”

“What he means is that you shouldn’t be focusing so much on class that you don't come home and cook for us,” his mother stiffens. “We’ve been gone, and we come home to an empty house with three layers of dust and no food in the pantry?”

Oikawa’s indifferent demeanour flickers, light bulb running low. “I-I thought you said my marks couldn’t get below ninety-five,” he stutters.

“When would I ever say that? Are you deranged?” his mother says with a little laugh. “Just don't get any lower than an A."

Oikawa bites back the snark that hovers on the tip of his tongue, the memory of getting grounded over an eight-seven on a math test. His mother’s anger was as brash as the wind chimes, the stupid metal wind chimes, hurling venom tipped insults at him like knifes. He wants to bring it up, but the utter confidence in which she speaks forces him to falter. He could just be being dramatic after all.

Oikawa slips out of the kitchen, climbs the stairs in twos and reaches his bedroom, locking the door shut behind him. There’s no use in trying to go to Iwaizumi’s. He’s taken the entire day off to go out fishing with his family, learning how to work the boat. Oikawa grabs his overnight bag from under his bed, prays that Hinata’s mom will be nice enough to let him stay the night. The last thing he wants is to sneak out and realize he isn't welcome. Throwing a few books, a change of clothes, and his toothbrush into the bag, Oikawa zips it tight, sealing away his belongings. It’s not much, but it’s all he’ll really needs for the night.

Oikawa throws his bag out of the side window in his bedroom, silently praying that his parents haven’t moved from the kitchen. There’s an old birch tree, knotted and winding, with branches thick enough to support him as he jumps. The branch he holds onto bends, creaks in a way that threatens to snap. Oikawa lets go at the last moment, dropping the last few feet onto the ground. He stumbles slightly, falling back onto his ass, but remembers to roll over before the branch smacks him back in recoil. Grabbing his bag, he sets off back down the street he just came, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

It’s a forty-five minute walk to Hinata’s house normally, but for some reason, Oikawa takes an hour to maneuver through the town, to cross the floodgates and the docks and to climb the switchbacks that wind around the cliff. When Oikawa finally reaches Hinata’s front door, he only has to knock once before a short woman with hair pulled back into a soft bun yanks open the door.

“Oh! You’re Shouyou’s boy. Oikawa, yes?” She smiles, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. “Come in, it’s getting chilly. Shouyou’s just finishing up supper. Have you eaten?”

Oikawa toes off his shoes quickly as Hinata’s mother leads him to the kitchen. “No, but I’ll be—”

“Shouyou!” his mother calls. “Your boy is here for you!”

“Stop calling him that!” Oikawa hears Hinata whine, and he’s so exhausted but now he's blushing and smiling at the same time as he comes face to face with Hinata in the kitchen, setting sun pouring through the windows and falling over both of their faces as Hinata looks up at him.

“Can I stay over?” Oikawa finally asks. “It’s a long story.”

Hinata’s eyes soften along with his smile, makes a tendon or a muscle in his heart twitch.

“Of course,” he breathes. They stare at each other for a few seconds, relief seeping through Oikawa’s shoulders as Hinata turns to face his mom.

“I’m taking dinner and him to my room,” Hinata says to her, already moving to scoop an enormous helping of food into a bowl.

“Okay, have fun!” his mother says as Hinata drags Oikawa upstairs, passing by his younger sister's room to where his is at the end of the hall. Oikawa stumbles in, immediately flopping onto Hinata’s bed without care and rolling over onto his stomach, bag tossed onto the ground, face smushed into the pillows. There’s not much drive left in him to turn back over and take the dinner from Hinata, mumbling a quick thank you when he realizes how hungry he is.

“Oikawa,” Hinata says, worry pricked in his voice. “Is something up?”

Oikawa shrugs, putting down the bowl on Hinata’s nightstand. “It’s… my parents. My mom, really,” Oikawa confesses. “It’s just…” Oikawa hesitates, looking away from Hinata to stare at the ground.

“You don't need to tell me if it’s too hard,” Hinata tells him, moving to sit down on the bed next to him. “And you can always come over here. My mom loves you, and I… you just mean a lot to me.”

Oikawa blinks twice, his insides wrenching, heart slamming against his ribcage. Hinata makes no move to pull away from him, instead leaning his entire body weight onto Oikawa, his head resting on Oikawa’s collarbone. Oikawa’s inhales, breath shaking from the fear of talking about the thing that he always carries with him, from the sheer emotion that radiates off of Hinata like body warmth. Tentatively, Oikawa shifts his arm, brushing his fingers through Hinata’s hair, the soft strands almost feathery against his skin as he pets Hinata’s head. It eases the tightness in his throat, the headache between his eyes, and increases the rate at which his heart beats.

It’s a long silence that seeps through the air before Oikawa clears his throat gently. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.”

Hinata looks up at him, beaming wide. “It’s really nothing, Oikawa. Is there anything you want to do while you’re over? Homework, sleep?”

Oikawa shrugs, fighting a yawn. “Hm, maybe a movie?” he suggests. “I just want my mind taken off everything.”

Hinata nods, face luminous as he snuggles closer into Oikawa’s side. “I can do that,” he tells him, and when Oikawa’s stomach twists, it isn’t out of fear.

—

He’s in love.

Hinata Shouyou is in love.

He’s not sure for how long he has been, but it’s as certain as the sun rising, as certain as the steady rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest as he sleeps.

Hinata is in love with him.

The movie has long since ended, but Oikawa had fallen asleep almost halfway through, still snuggled up close to Hinata’s side, head pressed against his own. The credits hum through the twilight, suede grey skies fading into a cloudy night with an accompaniment of piano and violin. Hinata slowly leans forward, not wanting to move Oikawa’s arm slung around him, and closes the lid of his portable DVD player and tosses it onto the ground. Neither had bothered to set up a futon for Oikawa to sleep on, and by the steadiness of Oikawa’s breath now, it’s clear they won’t. Hinata carefully untangles himself from Oikawa’s grasp— he’s not wearing clothes he could sleep in, unlike Oikawa, who simply wears sweatpants and a soft tee.

He sheds his jeans in knowledge that Oikawa won’t be awake to see, changing into his pyjamas and tiptoeing out of his bedroom to brush his teeth before going back to his bed, unsure whether or not he should bother getting the futon. Selfishly, he wants to sleep beside Oikawa, to wake up in his arms, to be held close and listen to the sound of his breathing. It makes him blush even in the moonlight, makes his heart tingle and his head spin.

How couldn’t he love him, with his smooth skin and soft hair, puckered lips that pout as he sleeps? Hinata should have known he was gone since the first time he heard him laugh, since the first time he saw his eyes sparkle. Of course, it took seeing him broken and exhausted in his kitchen to realize how he feels. Now, with every aching fibre of his body, Hinata wants nothing more than to care for him, to see him smile with the same curiosity again.

Hinata climbs into his own bed pulling the covers back over his legs and shifts to rest his head on Oikawa’s chest. Almost immediately, arms move to wrap around him, Oikawa moving in his sleep to hold him tighter. Hinata’s breath shakes on the exhale, only for him to hear as he closes his eyes. He inhales the soft scent of Oikawa’s clothes and body wash, cinnamon and spice, fall in every sense of the word. Lulled to sleep by the warmth all around him, Hinata lets himself fall out of consciousness, focusing only on the arms holding him tight.

—

**_Winter, 2003_ **

It’s become almost routine now for Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Hinata to eat their lunches in the courtyard, sitting atop the single picnic table next to the rock the elementary kids always sneak out to climb. Hinata’s lying upside down, head dangling off the edge, wearing Oikawa’s sweater over his shoulders to shield him from the incoming cold. Winter begrudgingly begins to freeze over, lingering frost in the early mornings and late night, leaving dew frozen as icicles and the wind to be bitter cool. They're too close to the ocean to ever get snow, instead settling for rough seas and a barrage of freezing rain. With their lunches discarded out of lack of appetite, Iwaizumi eats an apple, cutting away at the bruised bits with the knife to toss to a nearby crow.

“Do you ever feel like you’re disconnected?” Oikawa asks out of the blue.

Iwaizumi squints slightly, biting into his apple. “What d’you mean?”

Oikawa huffs, leaning his elbows onto his thighs. “Like you’re never going to do anything permanent. One day, all of this—” He motions to the scenery around him, waving his hand. “—will be gone, and no one will even know who we were.”

Hinata sits up, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves that slip over his hands. “That’s awfully heavy to be thinking about at eleven am,” he remarks.

“Time is fake,” Oikawa shrugs. “So, do you?”

“It’s impossible to make anything be immortal,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Trying to be the exception to that will be what does you in.”

Oikawa groans, throwing back his head. It isn't until Hinata takes the knife from Iwaizumi and hops off the picnic bench that he looks back up, watching as he approaches the rock beside them.

“What’re you doing?” Oikawa asks, cocking his head as Hinata brings the blade to the stone, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“Making us immortal,” he says, as if it were the plainest truth. “Crap, this is harder than I thought.”

Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, who raises an eyebrow as if to say _this is what you asked for_. Throwing away the lingering existentialism that sits in his chest, he makes his way over to Hinata, watching as he carves his first name into the rock, going over each line a thousand times before he’s settled with it. Carefully, he blows off the excess rock dust, cleaning up the engravement with the back of his hand before handing the knife to Oikawa.

“Your turn,” he says, face soft, eyes meeting Oikawa’s as they glisten. Oikawa takes the switchblade from him, turning to whittle his own name into the rock underneath Hinata’s. It’s hard work, time consuming, and he almost cuts himself twice, but eventually he comes away with his name etched into the rock.

Iwaizumi goes last, taking the least amount of time. His writing, which so often looks like scrawl, carves neat onto the rock, small script in bold strokes that stands out against the dark, smooth surface. He closes and pockets the knife when he’s finished.

“There,” Hinata hums, looking up at Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Now we’ll be here forever.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa echoes, flicking his eyes away from Hinata and down to his feet, chest tangling with something too sweet. “Forever.”

—

Oikawa hates the fishing town where he lives, thirty minutes away from Tomonotsu, a port with a few thousand people, a metropolis compared to what he’s used to. He hates the suffocating smallness of it all, how it wraps around the docks and the coastline, how the water runs off the high ground inland and floods the markets when it rains hard. More than anything, he hates the overwhelming silence of where he lives, the stagnant pull of time ticking away without him noticing, the dwindling hours of daylight, of nightlight, of weeks and months and years of a life he doesn't know if he’s really living.

He’s _bored_ , and Oikawa Tooru doesn't do bored, doesn't do being scared of normalcy. It lurks on his skin at night, crawls into his ears, whispers what fears lay untouched in the back of his mind while his parents sleep soundly in the room across the hall. They've lived here their entire lives, and Oikawa’s wondering what’s got them so stuck they can’t move.

In front of him lies a textbook, four inches thick with eleven point font, diagrams so tiny Oikawa has to wear his glasses to even have a chance at distinguishing what it says. It’s another one of the physics textbooks— ten years dated, but still far above anything his teachers would ever lecture on— talking about the intricacies of quantum mechanics, the behaviour of matter in space, and these finicky little particles called neutrinos that no one really understands all that well. Oikawa reads it like poetry, absorbing every line as he drinks tea that has long been lukewarm. The funny part about it all is that he can make sense of the words, can understand what they mean when they describe vacuums and velocities with numbers beyond human conception. It feels visceral, feels fresh in a way that comes along with adrenaline of good times or bad decisions.

Beside the textbook is a printed out application for the University Of Tokyo. Oikawa still hasn't figured out what kind of adrenaline this is.

The physics program is thousands more than Oikawa knows he has to spend, even without specifying which area he’ll focus on. The only way he could manage to get there would be on scholarship, a last ditch effort at a dream school in a dream field in a city bigger than anywhere he’s ever been. He’s got backups, naturally, but even then they’re a reach, something he only knows he can accomplish in hard work and hours slaving over entrance exams. This is the last form he needs to mail before taking the exams, all of his essays already sent, his profiles well on their way to the capital.

It’s terrifying, and it hasn't quite sunk in yet. More than anything, Oikawa doesn't want to back down, to stay tethered to the town with frozen parents with bitter tongues, same old faces with the same names. It’s the part of him that dreads leaving everything behind that worries him the most, the part that's the most akin with the ache that comes along with loving a certain tangerine haired boy that makes him feel guilty for even dreaming about it.

But here’s the thing about Hinata Shouyou— when he loves, he loves with his everything. Oikawa isn’t blind to the way in which his eyes still follow Iwaizumi, or how he still seems dazed when Iwaizumi says his name or brushes their hands together. It’s obvious that Oikawa, broken and bruised Oikawa, with his fascination with anything bigger than this small town and getting further and further away, will never be what Hinata needs. Oikawa yearns for him, but the suffocating feeling of standing next to Hinata and knowing he’s torn between two people will never go away, won’t lessen if he ever tries to confront him about it.

Because Hinata would get over Oikawa leaving. He’d frown, but roll with it, try to keep in touch before inevitably favouring what’s easier. And Oikawa won’t hold any bitterness over it— his infatuation was so hopeless in the first place that there was never a point. It will hurt him more than Hinata, to leave this, _him_ behind.

He’s going to leave. And it’s not a matter of _if_. It’s a matter of _when._

—

Hinata doesn't know what to feel when it comes to Oikawa’s home. It isn't very lived it, a little impersonal, with weird wind chimes that make too much noise that Oikawa always whines about. The kitchen is always spotless— what kind of kitchen is ever clean?— and a fine layer of dust always lies over anything expensive. On one hand, it’s lonely, and on the other hand, Hinata adores it, because it’s where Oikawa’s room lies, and Oikawa’s room is a little slice of _him_. Glow in the dark stars pasted to the ceiling, childhood scribbles still littering the walls, paint chipping in the corners. Oikawa flops down on his bed for a moment before rolling over and yanking a flashlight and a circular chart from in-between two books, tossing the flashlight and a blanket to Hinata with a smile. It’s well past midnight now, Oikawa’s parents out of the house for the night, the fact leaving Hinata buzzing with anticipation and possibility, leaving him staring at Oikawa and catching his gaze with pink cheeks.

“Follow me,” Oikawa instructs, hand in Hinata’s— _have they always been so soft?_ — grin almost maniacal, eyes bright with adventure and teenage wanting. He pushes open a closed door, pressing a finger to his lips and quirking a brow.

“Don’t touch a thing,” he warns. Hinata nods, watching as Oikawa sneaks through the small laundry room towards what he assumes is a drink fridge, opening it and pulling out a large bottle of something red.

“Sangria,” he murmurs, turning it over in his hands. “No idea what that is, but it looks fruity and looks like my mom’s, so let's go with it.”

Hinata rolls his eyes and stifles a giggle, stepping aside so Oikawa could carefully shut the door before moving to another room, being equally as delicate with it. This one has red paint on the walls, brown drapes and a hideous shag carpet that, despite being soft, Hinata can tell hasn't been washed in ages. Oikawa tip toes along a flattened path towards a window, opening it so that the breeze can come in.

“Unfortunately, my parents have the room with the roof access ladder,” Oikawa tells him. “You got the stuff?”

Hinata holds up the smorgasbord of items Oikawa had given him. “Will I find out what the surprise is now?”

“Nope!” Oikawa sings, popping the word as he leans through the window. “I’ll go up first, then you can hand me the stuff,” he tells him, passing him the bottle.

Hinata nods, excitement building in his stomach as he watches Oikawa climb out of the window, swinging over to grab onto the built in roof access handles. Hinata moves closer to the window, bundling up the items in the blanket, sticking it out the window for Oikawa’s outstretched hand to grab. Once he’s sure that Oikawa’s made it up, Hinata squeezes out himself, balancing on the edge before pulling himself up with the handles. Oikawa is there to catch him when he stumbles forwards, already laughing when Hinata lands half in his lap.

The grade of the roof is nowhere near steep, allowing them to make it to the flat top so that they can sit comfortable. The shingles make good grips, and Hinata is able to scramble up without so much as a single slip. Granted, Oikawa takes longer as he lugs up their things, but Hinata still sticks out his tongue and lets himself be assured in winning either way.

Setting up whatever Oikawa has planned takes no time at all. The blanket is enormous and allows for the two to sit on it while having it wrapped around both of their shoulders, warming them and keeping out the winter air. Hinata watches with earnest as Oikawa pulls out his little chart, flicking on the flashlight to illuminate the diagrams as he turns it over in his hands.

“A star map,” he explains. Taking Hinata’s hand in his, he places his index finger onto the centre pin in the middle. “This is Polaris, or the north star. All I have to do is spin this to the date and time, and we have a map of what constellations are right above our heads.”

“What’s this one?” Hinata asks, pointing to a W shaped constellation.

Oikawa’s eyes brighten at Hinata’s question, ready to answer. “It’s Cassiopeia, and to the right of it is Andromeda.”

“Andromeda?”

“The nearest galaxy to us,” Oikawa explains.

Hinata’s eyes widen. “You can see a galaxy?”

“You wanna try?” Oikawa asks, pulling out the binoculars from the blankets and handing them to Hinata. “So first we find Polaris, and from there, we go down to the next star to find the beginning of Cassiopeia,” he instructs.

“Got it,” Hinata says, fiddling with the binoculars as he traces the constellation.

“Now follow the deepest V until you see a slightly fuzzier star, and I’ll help focus,” Oikawa says, already moving behind him, voice smooth in his ear and lips close to his neck as he wraps his arms around him. Hinata puts all of his energy into finding the fuzzy light source and notifying Oikawa of it so that he could let himself relax— or as much as he could, with Oikawa breathing warmth onto his skin.

It takes a few moments of fiddling, but slowly, the blur begins to take form into a spiral, faded, but bright, with little flecks of something inside of it. Hinata almost gasps at the sight of it, amazed at the fact that he can see something so otherworldly, celestial in a way he can’t begin to comprehend. An entire galaxy, so small he could put his finger on it, home to billions of stars and creations that Hinata will never see, millions of lightyears out of his grasp, yet visible for his eyes to see. He stays silent for a long time, simply looking up at the galaxy in pure awe as Oikawa holds him, rubbing soft circles on his thighs.

It feels like a millennium before Hinata drops the binoculars and turns to look at Oikawa, his own look of wonder and amazement mirrored by the veneration in his eyes. Oikawa smiles, resting his head atop Hinata’s as he begins unscrewing the bottle, offering Hinata the first sip. It washes smoothly down his throat, cool, bubbly, sweet on his tongue. He wonders, as Oikawa takes the next sip, if their tongues would taste the exact same, if kissing him would feel just as sweet as stolen wine and constellations and galaxies from far away.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Hinata says, leaning fully into Oikawa’s arms.

“You’re welcome,” Oikawa says, and there’s a hint of something softer, sadder in his voice. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to show this to.”

Hinata’s heart clenches, and he washes aware the pure desire and needs with the drink, settling instead for the warmth radiated by Oikawa’s arms around his waist, choosing to just be satisfied with what he can get.

—

Iwaizumi calls bullshit when Oikawa brings five textbooks to their study period— three that don't even pertain to the upcoming tests.

“What’s this for?” he asks, picking up the book closest to him. It’s a jumble of scientific words he can’t understand on the backdrop of what looks like a galaxy, without any indication of being at the high school level and the familiar stamp of the library on the cover.

“Independent study,” Oikawa replies, opening his notebook and another one of the textbook splayed in front of him. His glasses droop down his nose enough that he resembles a librarian. Iwaizumi figures he could pass as one, with the amount of books he checks out.

“Not for any of the classes here,” Iwaizumi says, flipping through the book. “Or Tomonotsu, for that manner. They don't require you to take an entrance exam, do they?”

Oikawa halts his movements, pencil hovering above the page. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes slightly, concern rising in his features at the sight of his best friend caught in the headlights. It’s even more odd to see him close the books, rubbing his face with his hands before pushing it all aside and looking Iwaizumi in the eye.

“I’m not applying to Tomonotsu,” Oikawa says, not caring to soften the blow. “I’ve applied for scholarships to Tokyo schools in physics departments. I have entrance exams soon.”

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to freeze, holding his breath as if to wait for Oikawa to exclaim his prank with exuberance and a megawatt smile, even if he knows that can't be the case. Oikawa’s eyes are bitter, almost tired, no sense of his usual pride evident in how he slouches forwards onto his elbows to stare Iwaizumi in the eye.

For some reason, it hurts more than he think it should, to hear that Oikawa wants to move on. Of course Iwaizumi never had plans to go to university, not with the amount of money his family makes. It was never something he wanted, and he knew Oikawa would travel to, he assumed, Tomonotsu eventually to continue on. It’s a surprise that that isn't the case, that Oikawa had already chosen universities nearly seven hours away, on the other side of Japan without even letting him know.

“You’re smart, Oikawa. You’re not a prodigy, but you’re smart, and you’ll be accepted to these fancy schools no doubt,” Iwaizumi finally says, still wanting to be supportive despite the discomfort inside of him.

“Thank you,” Oikawa mumbles. “I was afraid you’d be upset.”

“Idiot, why would I be?” Iwaizumi says with a roll of his eyes. “How long have you known you’re going?”

“Since the beginning of the school year,” Oikawa tells him without hesitation.

It’s that that makes Iwaizumi stop, what forces his shoulders to tense. Nine months is an awfully long time to keep a secret without telling, to mull over something without so much as disclosing a hint or a worry, without slipping up and spilling everything. Oikawa’s always had a poker face that could rival any gambler’s, but the idea of him living alone with the nearing departure date is even much for him.

Iwaizumi swallows the knot in his throat, finally asking the question he’s been wondering from the start.

“Does Hinata know?” he asks, and the way Oikawa’s face shifts at the very mention of his name says it all.

“No,” Oikawa whispers, pushing his glasses onto his head and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“You have to tell him,” Iwaizumi says, voice steely and unforgiving. “Oikawa, there’s no keeping this a secret. You've kept it long enough.”

“I know,” Oikawa breathes. “I’ll tell him. I promise.”

If the words sound empty, Iwaizumi blames it on the bruises under his eyes and the sleep still lying in his face. Lavender blooms on washed out tanned skin, a combination that leaves Oikawa’s olive undertones murky and his brown eyes duller than Iwaizumi has ever seen them.

—

Iwaizumi’s boat (his auntie’s boat, not his _quite_ yet) has a blown out speaker that always crackles, a brand new paint job, and a couch under the deck with the warmest wool blanket Hinata’s ever felt. Beside him, Iwaizumi works with a hole puncher and twine, stringing together photographs of his family, him, Hinata, and Oikawa, or some combination of them all. It’s just them, Oikawa too busy with school work to come over, insisting on some alone time to get work done. Hinata could understand it perfectly, and as much as he missed his company, he knew that Iwaizumi and him, with lighter course loads, would just distract him.

“Look at this picture,” Iwaizumi says, holding it out so Hinata can see. It’s from the summer, by the looks of it, with Hinata and Oikawa laughing, some kind of firelight cascading over their faces. Hinata smiles fondly, the hilt of nostalgia digging into his ribs and spreading warmth throughout his chest.

“Oh my god, look at you here,” Hinata says, leaning over Iwaizumi to point out another where Iwaizumi sits with his younger siblings, reading them a story with comedically expressive faces. Iwaizumi blushes at the photo, stringing it onto the line with the other before moving onto the next, a photo of all three of them passed out on Iwaizumi’s couch, drunk, likely taken by his family as some kind of blackmail material. Hinata swipes his thumb over the picture, remembering how they had lit a driftwood fire that day, walked to the ocean barefoot and soaked their pants in seawater. It was a nice memory, one that only furthered the flutter in his chest as he imagines how he felt in the moment.

Grabbing another photo, Hinata smiles again, laughing lightly. “I wish Oikawa was here to see this one. You gotta show him it,” he says. It’s a blurry shot of Oikawa, hair wild, reaching for the camera in desperate attempt not to get his photo taken, all in vain. Hinata sighs. “Tomonotsu must require so much studying for Oikawa to miss out on this.”

Hinata feels Iwaizumi tense beside him, but only for a split second. It passes with the moment as they continue stringing photographs on twine, crackling speaker cutting in and out as the music plays. Iwaizumi is steady beside him, like an anchor on the rocking boat, like a moor in the stormy sea. Hinata breathes slowly in time with the swaying, knots the twine and inhales peace.

“One day,” Hinata muses. “You’re going to take me out on the boat and together we’ll catch a marlin.”

“A marlin?” Iwaizumi quips, raising a brow.

“Oh yes,” Hinata explains. “And Oikawa will be jealous he missed out because he was studying and too afraid of the sharks, and we’ll come back to town and rub it in his face. Then, under the stars, we can have good food and laugh and you’ll sit behind me and sing and Oikawa will lay in my lap and try to keep up and it’ll all be perfect.”

Iwaizumi swallows the dread in his throat. “We will,” he tells Hinata, running a hand through his hair. “We will.”

—

February is a pink month, despite nothing blooming. Oikawa walks to the mailbox slowly, savouring the little sunshine that peeks through the clouds as the wind blows through him. He twirls the key in his hand, careful not to drop it— the last time he did, it was down a sewer drain, and his mother never let him forget it. He doesn't know what she expects to be waiting there— maybe some mail order clothes from a catalogue, her latest tabloid she spends too much on. Either way, Oikawa has no choice but to bend to her will and check, abandoning his books to head outside.

He’s written all of his entrance exams by now, meaning there’s nothing left for him to study or work on except his high school exams that are coming up. Oikawa doesn't really need to study for them, already breezing through the courses with high marks. For now, he sits idle, trying to spend time out of the home and with Hinata, relishing in his smile and laughter for as long as he can.

In the mailbox is a few flyers, some bills, a little package of what might be jewelry that his mother probably wanted. Oikawa sifts through the letters on his way back, reading the same-old-same-old names on the envelopes, tossing the flyers into other people’s trashiness knowing his mother will only scoff at them. It’s when he reaches a letter with the seal of the University of Tokyo that he pauses, stopping in the centre of the street as he stares down at it.

It’s made out to him. Of course it is.

Oikawa doesn't bother handing the mail to his mother when he gets home, dropping it straight onto the floor and taking the letter to his bedroom. His bedroom door doesn't have a lock, but he sits down against it so that no one can come in while he reads it. Hastily, with shaking fingers, Oikawa rips over the envelope tossing it aside and unfolding the letter, only now being careful not to bend the paper.

_Mr. Oikawa Tooru,_

_We at the University of Tokyo are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to our Physics department on full scholarship, following your near perfect score on your entrance exam and incredible references. Enclosed is more information on your program and your scholarship. We hope to see you on campus this April, and to see what you help accomplish._

_Best regards,_

_Hatanaka Ritsuo, Dean._

 

Oikawa stares down at the letter in disbelief, turning it over to see pages more of information, complete with brochures and smiling faces. Oikawa lets out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head as he reads the word _acceptance_ one more time, dropping the other papers to the floor as he presses the letter to his lips, kissing it as if it were holy.

 _I’m leaving_ , he thinks, leaning back to look up at the stick on stars pressed to his ceiling. _I’m leaving, and I’m not looking back._

—

**_Spring, 2004_ **

Exams draw closer and closer— only a week away—  as March begins to end, the school year along with it. The high school they attend doesn't have many traditions, but the one every student seems able to uphold is a “dance” of sorts— the third years and their friends staying late at the school, fooling around while music blasts and kids challenge each other to dance offs. Someone always spikes the punch, and half the students play hide and seek throughout the entire school— even the elementary area. Hinata, courtesy of knowing Iwaizumi and Oikawa, gets to attend, wearing faux formal wear with a blue carnation pinned to his shirt, black shorts rolled up and shoes off. Oikawa keeps ruffling his hair, sipping at some of the punch as Iwaizumi arm wrestles their classmates.

And truly, Oikawa can’t stop staring at the wonder in Hinata’s eyes, the flush of his cheeks and the way the cheap christmas lights used to illuminate the halls makes him shine like a diamond. Hinata giggles whenever Iwaizumi wins another round, his laughter creating infectious glee that rolls off him in waves. He leans back against Oikawa, sitting in his lap and closing his eyes, almost blissful as he listens to the steady thump of the music playing through the school’s old P.A. system. Oikawa rubs his cheek against Hinata’s head, trying to push down the part of him that wants to scream in favour of holding him as close as he can and praying that it’ll all be okay.

Eventually, the crowd disperses, and Iwaizumi gets dragged away by someone or another who seems to think they’ll be able to beat him on even ground. It’s still too loud for Oikawa’s liking, music blaring through his skull, making him feel a lot more lonely even with Hinata in his arms. It probably has to do with the unsettling amount of people yelling— though he knows them all by name, the only person he really wants to listen to is Hinata.

“C’mon,” Oikawa whispers into Hinata’s ear. “Let’s go find somewhere quieter.”

Oikawa feels almost starstruck as Hinata nods, eyes wide and sparkling. He holds tight onto Hinata’s hand as they maneuver the hallway, sneaking past students playing spin the bottle or exchanging conversation to find an empty classroom where they could talk without having to yell. They have to go to the very end of the school to find a classroom that’s both unlocked and empty, and when they do, Oikawa’s first task is to make sure the door is completely shut. Hinata breathes a sigh of content, Oikawa a sigh of relief, and together, they open the curtains and windows, too warm to bother with keeping them closed.

It’s eight pm, but springtime brings longer days, meaning the sunset melts through the window panes in pale shades of peach and orange, the sun drifting low and large in the horizon. From here, they can see the ocean, how the light reflects off of the water in waves that send rays cascading towards them. Even with the view being as stunning as it is, Oikawa can’t bring himself to look away from Hinata, who moves two desks together and sits on top of one, smiling towards him without any hint of the despondency Oikawa feels in his chest.

He knows he should tell Hinata, knows that keeping the secret of going to live so far away for this long will only kill him in the end. It’s impossible— he can’t bring himself to kill the moment of peace where Hinata is looking up at him smiling, glowing in the sunset, orange light washing over his freckled cheeks. Oikawa aches because it’s already too late, because no matter when he finds out, his heart will be on the floor, and Oikawa will be the one with blood on his hands.

 _Hinata doesn't deserve this_ , he thinks to himself. It’s selfish, oh-so selfish, that he doesn't want to be tied back to this town. It’s even worse that he wishes he could uproot Hinata, bring him with him, live in an apartment in the big city with him and just exist. It’s not possible, and that’s what hurts more that anything else, more than the fear of leaving, more than disappearing and not looking back. _Too stuck to move,_ Oikawa’s mind hisses. _Too in love to leave without feeling like this._

“What’re you thinking about?” Hinata asks, scooting closer to that their knees touch.

“You,” Oikawa responds without hesitation. It’s half true, but it covers up the spreading numbness that threatens to choke out the truth as the wind rips through the open windows, tousling Hinata’s hair and billowing the curtains around him. Hinata blushes pinker than the sky, looking away for half a second before Oikawa catches his cheek with his hand.

 _I can’t do this,_ Oikawa thinks.

“Shouyou,” Oikawa says. “I don't know how to tell you how lucky I am to know you.”

Hinata’s eyes swell with fondness as he turns to look back up at him, grabbing Oikawa’s hand with his own and tangling their fingers together.

“Tooru,” Hinata whispers. “You’re everything to me. This has been the best year of my life because of you.”

The use of his first name, the tenderness of Hinata’s speech and the way he looks at Oikawa without any hint of hesitation feels like a knife to the chest, emotions boiling over at the sheer adoration Oikawa feels. It mixes in with the self loathing, the selfishness, and the overwhelming desire to throw his logical brain away for just one moment so that he can have this, have _Hinata_ , have what he wants almost as much as he wants a new life away from here.

So Oikawa does, even just for a moment, reaches forwards and brushes a strand of Hinata’s hair from his face. They still haven't looked away from each other, and Oikawa can't ignore the guttural pull from inside the pit of his stomach that yearns to be closer to Hinata, the need to continue rubbing his thumb across his cheek, to lean forwards so that their noses almost touch in a desperate plea for closeness.

“Can I try something?” Oikawa asks, not believing himself as he speaks.

Hinata nods slowly, eyes wide, doe like, gazing up at him with innocence that makes his heart clench. Oikawa holds his breath, running his tongue over his lips as Hinata blushes a deeper shade of pink.

“Close your eyes,” Oikawa instructs, thumb still tracing circles on Hinata's cheek. Hinata complies, his eyelashes brushing against the apples of his cheeks as he shuts his eyes, breath shaking in anticipation.

Oikawa takes one last moment to steady himself, taking in the view of Hinata, pink lips parted, sparkling in the sunset, so unbelievably _trusting_ of Oikawa. With a fluttering heartbeat and hands that tremor, Oikawa closes the last little gap between them, brushing his lips against Hinata’s in a moment of near nirvana.

It feels natural, like an exhale, how Hinata kisses him back for that one second, the softness of his lips moving against his, chaste, smooth, warm under the sun’s radiance. Oikawa’s left hand curls around to rest on the back of Hinata’s head, tentatively combing through the haywire strands of his hair, keeping his body close to his own. Hinata’s own arms move to wrap around his shoulders, as if to latch onto him, to moor him to this little world they've built themselves in an empty classroom and each other's mouths. Hinata kisses like heaven, gentle, angelic, and everything is perfect before Oikawa realizes how wrong he is for even daring to initiate the action in the first place.

Breaking the spell, he pulls away, Hinata chasing after him for a few inches before flicking his eyes up to meet Oikawa, one part amazed, two parts in love. Hinata looks at him like he looks at Iwaizumi, and the realization punches Oikawa in the gut as he doubles over, hiding his face in the crook of Hinata's neck. Oikawa’s spit feels thick, feels more like swallowing molasses, so sweet it’s bitter, feels like his throat is on fire as Hinata’s arms around him burn.

“We can pretend that never happened, if you want,” Oikawa says, already feeling a knot budding in his throat, words spoken somber into Hinata’s neck. “This doesn't have to mean anything.” Beneath him, Hinata shivers, breath hitching in a way so quiet Oikawa almost misses it over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Oikawa glances up to catch Hinata's faltering expression, and that’s when he feels the ache spread through his veins, the consequence of the choice he’s made already in action as Hinata leans forwards, resting his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder. It isn’t fair, how he can still be close to him without dying, how Oikawa has to pretend like this wasn't the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life, like kissing Hinata wasn't valhalla in his warlike state of mind.

“Okay, Tooru,” Hinata whispers. “That’s alright.”

Oikawa wonders if this is what being broken sounds like. He closes his eyes, and doesn’t look back.

—

Iwaizumi knows when something is up. It’s, as his mother calls it, his built in bullshit detector, installed at birth and refined by spending his childhood with Oikawa Tooru, an aloof but well meaning friend. It’s concerning, however, when Hinata calls him in a fit of anxiety, claiming that Oikawa has been avoiding him.

 _“Well, I don’t know if he’s really avoiding me or is just busy— we talked on the phone yesterday but I haven't seen him in three days and is that weird if that’s a lot? I’m just confused, maybe I did something wrong,”_ Hinata rambles.

“I don't get why he could be busy. Exams are over and our sorry excuse for a graduation has already passed,” Iwaizumi says. “What could you’ve done to make him avoid you?”

Hinata hesitates. _“I— I don’t know. I’m just worried, is all. Do you think he’s in one of his moods? Or that I’m being too neurotic? When he’s in Tomonotsu I won’t be able to see him every day, so maybe I’m just…”_ he trails off, sighing heavily, but all that Iwaizumi can focus on is the word _Tomonotsu_.

Hinata still doesn't know that Oikawa’s going to Tokyo. Oikawa never told him.

Iwaizumi’s anger simmers underneath his skin as he inhales deeply, combing a hand through his hair. “It has nothing to do with you, Hinata. Don’t worry,” he tells him. “I’ll go see what’s up— and you’re right, he’s definitely in a mood. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

 _“Y-yeah, okay. I’ll see you, Iwaizumi,”_ Hinata says, before hanging up the phone.

Iwaizumi prides himself in a lot of things— cool temper being one of them. Today, that’s thrown out the window as Iwaizumi makes his way down the street, not towards his house but to the seaside cove that’s only accessible at low tide, where Iwaizumi knows Oikawa will be. The tide is still shifting out, meaning Iwaizumi has to roll up his pants and shuck off his shoes, grit his teeth and deal with the chill of the water Oikawa can somehow stand.

And there he is, sitting precariously on a rock, avoiding the water but still getting the spray, shivering and sitting in a way that must be uncomfortable. He spots Iwaizumi and immediately lifts the empty look from his face, plastering something plastic— not happy, but still fake— on his face and waving to Iwaizumi. Before he can open his mouth, Iwaizumi has already started to speak.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Iwaizumi cracks, steady, like thunder. “You haven't told him?”

“I— I meant to, but—”

“No,” Iwaizumi cuts him off. “You don’t get to speak right now. You’re going to screw this up, and why? I don’t understand this, and you know Hinata doesn't deserve this. You have to do it now, and if you don’t—”

“I get it, Iwa—”

“Do you really?” Iwaizumi asks. “Because you promised me you’d tell him, and I expect you to say something to him, or at the very least pick up his calls.”

Oikawa bites his lip, sighing heavily. “I’ll tell him tonight.”

“Is that it? No explanation, no half-assed excuse?” Iwaizumi asks him. “I thought you were better than this.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, dangerous, but he says nothing. Behind the glass of his irises is pain, is sadness leaking deep into the hollows underneath him, and it’s only then that Iwaizumi sees how dead he looks.

“I’ll tell him,” Oikawa repeats, and his tone sounds more final than Iwaizumi’s ever heard it, and frankly, it terrifies him. “You can stop playing mother now.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, furrowing his brow. “You still think I’m doing this for you? That I’m not thinking about how fucked over Hinata will be that you’ve kept silent for this long?”

Oikawa turns away, not looking at him. “Iwaizumi, you can stop worrying now.”

“I’ll worry as much as I damn please,” he grits. “And you better make this right, Oikawa, or I swear—”

“I know—”

“Do you _really_?” Iwaizumi asks. The conversation dies with those last words, swept away by the currents of the ocean and leaving the air stale. Oikawa doesn’t make any move to look back at him, and it feels more like a blow that he can’t see the expression on his face.

“Do the right thing for once,” Iwaizumi says, backing away. “If not for Hinata, then for your own closure, or whatever selfish reason you need to make up to justify yourself.”

Oikawa looks over his shoulder at Iwaizumi one last time, eyes vacant, staring through him without any look of remorse. Iwaizumi watches as he looks away, turning away without saying much of a goodbye. When he makes no move to speak again, Iwaizumi backs up the way he came, stomach twisting with distaste, heart heavy and pained.

The thing is, Iwaizumi can’t see everything. He takes Oikawa’s word out of sheer hope and faith that he cares about Hinata, that the person he’s known all his life will do what’s right. He’ll never know that Oikawa will walk to the docks before circling back through town before he can reach Hinata’s house. His mind is made up, his home isn't lived in, and there’s nothing he can do to change what will happen next.

—

April begins, and life as Hinata knows it ends.

Not all that quickly, of course. The cherry blossoms flourish, and the sun still rises each morning, but nothing, not certainties, nor routine, could keep the world from tipping on its axis when Hinata woke up.

“Shouyou?” his mother asks, shaking him out of his dream. “Shouyou honey, you need to get up.”

Hinata mumbles incoherently, rubbing his eyes. “Ngh, why?”

His mother furrows her brow. “Isn’t Oikawa leaving for Tokyo today? I heard his mother talk about it at the bakery last night. He’s going to Tokyo U to settle in,” she tells him.

Hinata’s heart drops into his stomach. “What?” he asks, sitting up, not sure what he was hearing.

“Didn’t you know?” his mother asks, confused. “He’s accepted on scholarship, a big deal I guess. He’ll be living—”

“ _Tokyo_ ,” Hinata whispers, eyes widening in realization. “H-he’s leaving for Tokyo _when_?”

“Today, before noon I think—”

Hinata barely has time to throw himself out of bed, tripping over his bedsheets as he pushes past his mom, looking at the time on his old analogue clock. Ten-thirty, it reads, too close for comfort when Hinata’s mind is repeating _leaving, Tokyo, didn’t he tell you?_ on repeat like a sick mantra he couldn’t forget if he tried. He’s wearing a shirt three sizes large and shorts a size small, doesn't even bother with socks as he shoves his feet into his sneakers and bolts for his bike, leaving the helmet on the shed, racing down the hill.

 _It can’t be real,_ Hinata tells himself. _Oikawa wouldn't leave like this, without telling him. He never talked about Tokyo U, never mentioned leaving once— it doesn't make sense._

Hinata feels the doubt trickle, and pedals faster.

And there’s a lot of things that hurt more than riding your bike over a faulty floodgate, like doctor’s appointments and the first day of school, that one time Hinata broke his ankle in elementary school. But this, this soul wrenching pain of not understanding hurts more than any toothache, any hairline fracture, any bout of anxiety spilling out like words.

_You’re never going to do anything permanent—_

_It’s a long story—_

_Every day is the exact same—_

_If you love someone—_

_It never was yours—_

Suddenly, everything clicks, like puzzle pieces or the right cord for the charger, because Oikawa hated this town almost as much as he hated standing still, and it makes Hinata sick to think that he never saw this coming.

Hinata nearly knocks someone down as he whizzes through town, turning onto Oikawa’s street with a little too much lean, his bike slipping out from under him and sending him skidding across the ground. He can feel the sting in his knee caps, feels the itch of gravel under his skin, feels the bruises forming on his elbows, but there isn’t _time_ to wince or cry. Hinata stands, not bothering with his bike, instead sprinting up the hill, legs aching from overuse and biking a forty-five minute ride in thirty-three, from supporting a body that’d rather go limp, and Hinata runs like he’s never going to arrive and _stops_ in front of Oikawa’s house.

The first thing he notices is the wind chimes— quiet, for a change.

The second thing he sees is absence of Oikawa’s beat up civic, and the look of near terror on Iwaizumi’s face.

The final blow, it seems, is in the pity that he holds in his eyes. With one look, Hinata falls to his knees, stinging and numb in more ways than one, throat choked and eyes filled with tears. Around him, the wind blows, carrying petals and spring with it like some kind of cruel joke, because everything is suffocatingly silent without the wind chimes, without Oikawa. And it hits him like glass shards to the palms, because he’s too late and Oikawa is already gone and Hinata is crying in the middle of the street. It makes him want to puke, makes the tears feel like acid, feel like salt water on open wounds from exposed heartstrings. Hinata _loves_ him and he left without saying goodbye.

It burns, the thump of his heart beating out of his chest, the asphalt against his skinned knees, his eyes, too full with tears as he breathes— hyperventilates. _In, in, in, out, out, in, out, out, in, in_ — no pattern, only a stuttering pulse and eccentric catching in his lungs.

Hinata feels Iwaizumi move to try and help him up, a hand placed carefully on his shoulder, but Hinata thrashes away from the touch, throat hoarse and dry as he rubs his eyes with gravel coated hands. He’s not sure what’s worse, being left in the dark or the dust, not being told, or being tossed away after a year of something akin to finding home. It digs into Hinata’s arms like a thousands pricked needles, leaving his skin crawling as he cries his throat sore as he runs out of energy to pull away from Iwaizumi’s arms, lungs giving out in a heaving sigh as he holds him tight.

“W- _why_?” Hinata asks, voice cracking like radio static. “What d-did I do—”

Iwaizumi shushes him, cooing softly as he rocks them slowly back and forth. A petal falls, catches into Hinata’s hair and blends, pink tones with the orange, bright and soft and so unlike how Hinata feels. He shatters, falls like shards onto the pavement for all to see, becomes the talk of the town in twenty minutes as he continues heaving— a quarter in confusion, three parts in sheer pain, the kind he could never describe.

So Hinata sits, with Iwaizumi beside him, lets his body go slack with nothing but exhaustion left in his bones, creating a steadily seeping numbness that ebbs throughout his ribcage as he stands. His legs are weak, and around him, spring falls in only the nicest colours, like a reminder of the roots ripped from the soil of his hometown. Cherry blossoms stop smelling sweet in April, and Hinata tastes salt water from something other than the sea.

—

It’s three am and Iwaizumi has used up all of his family’s long distance minutes trying to reach the person he wants to talk to least. He figures, out of knowing Oikawa too well, that he’d be awake by now, staring at the ceiling or doing something other than sleeping. So Iwaizumi calls, listens to the dial tone and keeps his voice hushed as to not wake up Hinata who was sleeping upstairs.

(He couldn’t leave him alone after today. It wasn't possible.)

The phone rings until the sixth dial tone, when Oikawa finally decides it worth his time to answer. Iwaizumi doesn't give him time to even greet before he starts speaking, stretching the phone’s cord across the kitchen and outside of his door.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done? Or are you selfish enough to not care about someone you’ve spent your entire year with?” Iwaizumi snaps. “What the fuck was going through your head, Oikawa? Not telling him, not saying goodbye—”

_“Iwaizumi—”_

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi barks. “I had to watch Hinata fall to the ground and _crumble_ because of you, Oikawa. He’s spent the last four days thinking he did something wrong, so all I want is an explanation of why the hell you decided to do what you did. So start talking.”

He’s faintly aware of how loud his voice climbed and takes a deep breath to steady himself as Oikawa begins to stammer.

 _“He didn’t do anything wrong,”_ Oikawa seethes. _“I couldn’t be held down by anyone. I couldn’t stay in that town. Unlike some people, I’m not settling with a library I’ve read a thousand times through and no new faces save inbred babies.”_

“You fucked up,” Iwaizumi tells him, shaking his head in disbelief.

 _“Tell me something I don’t know. He’ll get over it— it was one kiss. It doesn't matter anyway, because one day he won’t even remember me,”_ Oikawa says, tone bitter and cold.

“You _kissed_ him?” Iwaizumi hisses. “You _kissed_ him, _knowing_ he loved you, threw aside his feelings like they were _nothing_ —”

_“Hinata doesn’t—“_

“Don’t go there,” Iwaizumi warns. “Not when I’ve watched you two fall for each other over the last twelve months. You don't get to claim otherwise, Oikawa.”

_“He’ll move on from me, because I didn’t—”_

“Are you saying this to make yourself feel better, or because you’re right? And you know the answer, so shut the hell up and listen for once in your goddamn life,” Iwaizumi says. “You don't get to do this shit to people, even if you’ve spent your entire life loathing existence and obsessing over atoms. That isn't how this works. You don't get a free pass on tossing people aside when they stop being useful to you.”

 _“That’s not what I did,”_ Oikawa defends.

“You loved him, but he got in the way, so what did you do? You got rid of him, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says. “You left me to pick up the pieces of our friend. And because of what? Your own insecurities? I don't even care at this point.”

Oikawa falls silent for a moment, and Iwaizumi can hear how his breath shakes before he speaks.

 _“I don’t love him,”_ Oikawa whispers.

“Bullshit,” Iwaizumi shoots back. “But you’re pathetic if you even dared to say that in the first place.”

The line is silent, and all Iwaizumi can hear is the wind as it whistles past him. It’s almost eerie, with the lack of noise. Of course Oikawa would steal his parents wind chimes. He was the only one who hated them so much.

 _“I’m sorry, Iwaizumi, but you don’t understand,”_ Oikawa tells him.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Iwaizumi says. “And you know what? If understanding why you would ever do something this sick means having to pity you and take your side, I’m not going to do it. Call me when you realize exactly what it is that you’ve done.”

It’s the last thing Iwaizumi says to him before he hangs up.

(It’s the last thing he says to Oikawa for another year and a half.)

Iwaizumi shivers— it’s too cold for an April night. He can feel the regret creeping back overhead, the should haves, could haves, the _what if I had just told him instead_ sort of thoughts. The image of Hinata shaking and dry heaving is still burnt on the back of his retinas, immortalized next to every other shining memory of him like a reminder of fragility. It seeps into him— the anger, because he could’ve forced Oikawa’s hand, could have just said _something_ —

A voice inside him reminds him that it was never his to tell. Iwaizumi’s anger roars, boils, defies all logic in lieu of self loathing and regret instead.

He only waits another moment outside before entering his own house, shutting the creaky back door behind him and making his way back to his bedroom where Hinata lies. He’s still sleeping, not having stirred despite the noise Iwaizumi made.

“ _It’ll be okay,”_ Iwaizumi whispers to him, sitting on the edge of the guest bed. _“No one is leaving anymore.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes because i gotta add some:  
> \- because its insanely important in canon, oikawa tooru is not a genius. he got into the program he did out of sheer dedication and hard work, after hours spent reading about the subject.  
> \- oikawa tooru is also an asshole sometimes.  
> \- i characterized oikawa as being mentally ill and heavily projected onto him but, a la death of the author, thats up to interpretation
> 
> thank you all for the response !! comments and kudos mean so much to us, so consider letting us know what you think!!


	4. chapter three: absolute motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, chances are you read idol au yesterday, but welcome back to The Angst of this one...  
> a quick note!!!  
> its mentioned that oikawa is on a team- for clarification, thats a research team, not a sports team.  
> thank u for reading, i hope u enjoy~

**_Spring, 2010_ **

_“It’s Oikawa,” Iwaizumi rasps. “He’s coming back.”_

The books in Hinata’s arms fall to the floor, dropping onto his toes and scuffing the floor of the entry way. Iwaizumi’s dog raises his head from where he sleeps on the couch, titling his head in surprise at Hinata’s entrance, but all Hinata’s focus centres around the words _Oikawa_ and _coming back._

It’s not something he’s ever thought of, dreamt about, or even considered since he had left six years ago. It wasn’t a concept he let himself indulge in or imagine ever since he realized how much it would hurt to see him back, no matter how much he might want it. And now, six years to the day, with the emotions felt on that day pushed behind him, Hinata feels himself spill, feels the familiar tingle of anxiety and dread that clouded his stomach when Oikawa first left.

“Shouyou?” Iwaizumi asks, taking a step forwards to place a hand on his shoulder. “Shouyou, you know I’m here. You won’t have to talk t’him or see ‘em at all.”

Hinata nods plainly, breath shuddering slightly as he inhales. “When will he be here?”

“Not for a week or so,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I don’t think anyone else in town knows ‘bout it. Maybe the bed and breakfast owners, but it shouldn't get around too fast.”

Hinata closes his eyes, taking a step forwards into Iwaizumi’s arms and pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat, and immediately, Iwaizumi wraps his arms around him, holding him close and rubbing his back as Hinata breathes in the familiar scent of ocean and earth, times his breathing to the thump of Iwaizumi’s pulse and prays that they won’t have to talk about this anymore.

(Hinata wants to say there’s nothing to talk about, but that’s a lie if he ever heard one. You can’t pick at a wound and expect it not to bleed. It’s only a matter of time before he starts tasting iron.)

Dinner is skipped in favour of curling up in bed. Hinata changes into Iwaizumi’s clothes, using every bit of strength to ground himself away from his thoughts. Fingertips trace lazy patterns on his hips, and warm breath creeps behind his ear. Iwaizumi makes a good pillow, but Hinata can’t be anything but tense on top of him as he tries to come to terms with what’s happening.

It doesn’t feel real, doesn't feel like it’s really happening. Hinata shuts his eyes, tries to imagine that this is any other day, that Oikawa isn’t currently heading back from Tokyo to this small town where their roots tangle. It doesn’t work, and Hinata ends up feeling sickness akin to the stomach flu broil inside him. It hurts, aches, and all Hinata can do is hold onto Iwaizumi and breathe in his love. He’s safe, at home in Iwaizumi’s arms.

“Sing me to sleep,” Hinata mumbles into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Hold me tight and never let me go.”

Iwaizumi buries his face into Hinata hair, rocking back and forth slowly. “Okay,” he says. “For you.”

Hinata lets his eyes flicker upwards to Iwaizumi face, watches the green gold of his eyes close, watches the way his lips move before he even sings.

_“My lover's got humour, she's the giggle at a funeral._

_Knows everybody's disapproval, I shoulda worshipped her sooner.”_

Hinata feels the vibrations of Iwaizumi’s voice, smooth, low, reverberating through his chest. It feels like heaven pressed against his tongue, like iron ore and cherries staining fingertips. Iwaizumi plays with his hair as he sings, and Hinata lets his mind go blank, focuses on the way each word is sung like gospel, breathes in with every inhale Iwaizumi takes.

_“Amen, amen, amen…”_

Hinata closes his eyes again, absorbs the moment and prays it’ll never end.

—

So it might be childish, but Hinata stays home everyday, doesn't bother leaving the house except to climb down the little stairs from the cliff to visit the ocean. There’s a sinking feeling of dread that comes along with knowing he could come face to face with Oikawa any time now, a prickle of annoyance at knowing how the people in the town will whisper his name like some sort of war hero or villain. It’s old news, but it’s news nonetheless— _everyone_ knows what happened between Oikawa Tooru and Hinata Shouyou that day. It was common knowledge, even after six years.

It’s the last day of spring break before Hinata has to head back to work, and as much as he enjoyed the solace of building blanket forts and spending long nights at sea with Iwaizumi, their little vacation has begun to end. Iwaizumi kissed him on the nose before he left to fish, asking him to pick up things from the market— they’ve run out of eggs, flour, bread, the works.

It’s five o’clock, and Hinata figures he’s safe. The market is only a half hour’s walk, and with the sun beginning its descent, he knows it’ll be a nice stroll. Hinata picks up the wicker basket from the entrance way, scratching Bok Choy behind the ears before closing the door behind him and making his way into the town.

As far as evenings go, this is one of the prettiest. Hinata can almost forget about Oikawa long enough to admire the way the waves sparkle, sun rays dancing off of the water. Petals float down from the hills, drifting into Hinata’s hair and the water. The air is warm, enough so that Hinata can stretch out his shoulders and soak up the sun. Spring has arrived in every shade of blooming tulips and roses and cherry blossoms, creates magic with its beauty.

The market is nearly empty, but it’s expected at this time of day. The vendors are mainly older folks today, their children and children’s children likely out enjoying the weather or a Sunday meal rather than running through town. Hinata makes his way between the winding stalls, waving to the fishermen that Iwaizumi works with as he stops to buy vegetables. Distantly, he can hear whispering— hushed quiet, not wanting to be heard. Hinata doesn't pay attention to it, beams towards the women at the stall and hands her the money as he puts the vegetables into the bag. It isn’t until he hears shuffling behind him that he turns around, his name already being called.

“Shouyou?” the voice says, and Hinata lets the basket slip from his fingertips and fall to the ground without realizing it, because he knows that voice. It’s familiar, even after six years, _especially_ after six years, six years of replaying it over and over in memories, six years of trying to forget.

In front of him, live, in the flesh, stands Oikawa Tooru, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, paper bag clutched to his chest. He looks shocked, surprised at the sight of Hinata as if they never had expected to meet each other again. They really hadn’t, but by now he should’ve known that he was going to see Hinata and Oikawa should’ve realized he wasn't supposed to be staring like a fish out of water or a hypnotized child.

 _“Don’t_ ,” Hinata shakes, anger spilling out before he can stop it. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Oikawa’s face falls more than it already has. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but Hinata doesn't give him the luxury of the time to say it.

“You think you can waltz back here like nothing’s changed?” Hinata asks, narrowing his eyes. “You think you can show up six years later and be like, ‘Hey, remember that time I left you sobbing in front of my childhood home to go to a fancy university? Sorry about that, can we move on?’”

“Shou- Hinata—”

“Stop,” Hinata warns, raising his hand to point a finger at Oikawa. “You can’t say anything. You’re going to be quiet. Because you can’t. You’re not allowed. This isn’t for you! You _kissed_ me and then _left me_ without saying _anything!_ You came into my life and _ruined it!_ ”

Hinata’s fighting back tears now, biting down on his tongue as he forces himself to look away from Oikawa. His chest hurts, like an elephant on his heartstrings, aches more than any bruise or broken bone. He can’t keep his voice steady, doesn't know how to be angry without being sad and tired, doesn't know confrontation without opening old wounds.

“I’m so sorry,” Oikawa whispers, taking a step forward. Hinata flinches away, furrowing his brow in distrust. Somehow, the look of desperation in Oikawa’s eyes doesn’t give him the satisfaction he always dreamed it would. Somehow, seeing the look of dejection on his face only makes him feel weaker.

“Leave me alone,” Hinata spits. “I don’t want to see you.”

It’s all he parts with before picking up the wicker basket and leaving the marketplace, aware of all of the eyes on him. Hinata knows he made a scene, but can't bring himself to care, not even when his basket is half empty and he knows that the rumours will only grow bigger.

“Hinata, wait!” Oikawa calls, and Hinata gives in to the urge to look back, if only just for a moment. Oikawa is reaching out to him, but doesn't follow, stays fixed where he stands as he watches Hinata leave.

And it hurts to leave, Hinata realizes. It tugs at every string inside of him, yells at him to turn back and stay out of a pure kind of masochism that he can’t find reason in. Hinata squeezes his eyes shut and runs, faster than his feet allow, bolts to the docks where he knows Iwaizumi will be. It makes his thighs scream in pain, makes his head numb of feeling, but in that moment, the prospect of being _away_ is better than anything else in this world.

So when Hinata gets to the docks, he sits, dips his bare feet into the water and waits for Iwaizumi to come to shore. It may be ten minutes or an hour, but he comes, and Hinata lets himself break like the waves in the arms of who he loves.

“I thought I could do this,” Hinata chokes as Iwaizumi sways him back and forth. “I thought it’d stop hurting by now.”

“You _can_ do this, and it _will_ stop hurting,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Not today, but soon enough. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Hinata clutches tighter to the fabric of his shirt. There is a hurricane in his eyes, the oceans swelling on his feet, and Iwaizumi stays steady like an anchor through it all.

—

Here’s the thing about Tokyo:

It’s _boring_.

Not in the there’s-nothing-to-do sense, but in the everyone-you-know-doesn’t-care sense.  It took getting used to, but after six years, Oikawa grew accustom to it all. He never spent much time out of the classroom, let alone out of the lab, but once the experiment he was helping with was completed, once he got his masters—

Well. Oikawa Tooru got bored of being lonely, or so he tells himself. And boredom is a very, very, dangerous feeling, one that comes with impulsive decisions and bad ideas. That didn't explain why it took Oikawa four months to decide to move back to his hometown, but nothing Oikawa does now makes sense. He’s stopped trying to make sense of things that weren’t subatomic years ago.

The town had changed. Not noticeably, at first, but in the little things— potholes had been filled on the road in, the convenience store/gas station was repainted, houses were more or less lived in than he remembered. Oikawa tried to take it in as he drove, but it didn’t hit him hard until he made it to the market to get things for dinner.

It didn't hit him hard until he saw Hinata Shouyou for the first time since he kissed him.

And _god_ , how he’s changed. His hair is a little shorter on the sides, a little longer on the top, still bright, still fluffy. He wears his clothes better now, fits into that sweater and those shorts and his shoes. And he’s tanner, and his freckles are more pronounced, and he’s maybe a tad bit taller than Oikawa remembers, but he’s real. He’s still here.

And then Hinata yells at him. Oikawa deserves it, but when he leaves, he’s left with a hole in his stomach and the regret pooling at the wound.

He knew this was coming, knew there wasn’t a way around it. There would always be this consequence for leaving, for coming back, so of course it meant that this moment would have to happen. It doesn't change the fact that it hurts, that it feels like a hangover without ibuprofen. Oikawa looks around at the vendors staring, offers what he can hope sounds like an apology, and leaves.

His parents have long since moved to a retirement home in Tomonotsu from what they last told him, and the house he used to call his own is, in fact, no longer his. He’s decided on renting out a room in a nice bed and breakfast like place, with rooms that consist of a bedroom, bathroom and small living area, while the dining area and kitchen laid in the common area. It’s old fashioned and nice, and takes the edge off of the sting as Oikawa moves back up to the room. He’s got a key, and has already unpacked. There wasn’t an awful lot to bring over from Tokyo, and he figured most of his modern, too expensive furniture wouldn't be worth the move. It’s okay, because it comes with a couch and two chairs and a mattress and bed, and Oikawa has a few windows because he can afford it with all of his worthless money, and it’s all a lot homier than he’s used to.

He accepted this fate a long time ago, even before he started heading back. _Reap the consequences,_ he tells himself. _Solve this problem, solve the next._

“People aren’t problems,” Oikawa reminds himself as he fixes the sheet onto his bed. “But that doesn't mean it’s all perfect.”

—

It doesn't change. At least, not at first.

Iwaizumi still holds Hinata’s hand, and they still walk together to the school after he’s hauled in the fish and brought them to the market. Hinata has a new class of students with bright faces and new names and grabby hands. They’re entranced with Iwaizumi, and always get excited when he stops by with lunch or seashells or a shell of an oyster to give them. Hinata reads the same books to different faces, and when he goes home, Iwaizumi slow dances with him just because. It’s soft, and it’s good, but there’s a change.

The change is that when Hinata walks to school, he hears singing. The change is that he always asks Iwaizumi to go with him to town so he doesn't have to answer the questions alone. The change is that his mother and Natsu both need to be told, and the change is that Iwaizumi goes out to see Oikawa sometimes instead of calling. Not often, but sometimes. And Hinata will see him out of the corner of his eye, in the high school part of the building doing god knows what, spots him leaving the bed and breakfast or heading to the library. It’s infuriating, but they don't speak, and things fall into a pseudo normal pace.

That is, until Hinata walks down to the dock three months later, planning to cross the floodgate like he has every morning for twenty-two years, only to see three contractors and Oikawa goddamn Tooru messing with it. Hinata slows to a trot and stops a few metres away, watching as a woman kneels down and greases a screw. Hinata cocks his head, biting the inside of his cheek as his face soured.

“What are you doing?” Hinata asks, wrinkling his nose. Oikawa stands up from where he was kneeling, wiping oil off of his jeans.

“This floodgate is out of code, severely. It was about to collapse. All of the wood around it was rotting,” Oikawa tells him, not a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Geh?” Hinata exclaims, furrowing his brow. “What are you, an engineer?”

Oikawa shrugs, kicking the floodgate as another bolt becomes tightened. “Well, yeah, but not civil. I’m actually a quantum—”

“Mhm,” Hinata hums, cutting him off. “Are you done yet? I need to cross.”

“We have to secure the steel to new wood still. You can still use the usual boardwalk bridge, right?” Oikawa asks. “Where is your bike?”

“It fell in the drink,” Hinata says, already turning around, realizing Oikawa is right. Talking to Oikawa infuriated him, but over the course of the months, he’s gotten used to his presence enough to not start shaking when he sees him. Still, it’s the first time they've spoken face to face since the incident at the market. Something inside of Hinata stirs, and it takes more energy than he’d like to admit to turn around and head back to bridge. Through the fog, he can see the lights as Iwaizumi’s boat moves to dock, follows the yellow glow back that way and meets him by the pier. Iwaizumi’s already pulled up the crabs by the time Hinata gets there, and greets him with a soft smile.

“Hey, hun,” Iwaizumi says, leaning down to kiss Hinata quickly before hoisting the bag over his shoulder. Recognizing the slight turn of his frown, Iwaizumi reaches out and holds his hand, preventing Hinata from walking onwards. “S’everything alright?”

Hinata breathes deeply. “Yeah,” Hinata tells him, smiling softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

His chest stirs, but it doesn't feel false when he says it. The looming thoughts of Oikawa still travel in the back of his mind, but Hinata takes comfort in the shelter of Iwaizumi’s touch, listens to the stories of that morning’s fishing trip and heads to school without further disturbance.

—

The one coffee shop in town is always bustling, either with people or the sound of cups and whirring machines. Oikawa taps his fingers against the table he sits at, sipping away at his latte idly as people walk in and out, stopping to chat in line or with the barista or the person sitting beside them. It’s a kind of casual friendliness he still hasn't become used to, not realizing how desensitized he was to walking blindly to a chain in Tokyo, ordering and not sparing anyone a second glance. Here, people have greeted him five times, two people actually recognizing him and waving before being pulled away by their kids.

( _Kids_. People his age have kids. Twenty-five seems like an absurd age to have children to him. He barely feels like an adult on some days.)

It’s another ten minutes of waiting before Iwaizumi sits down at his table, a large mug of coffee in his hand and purple bags under his eyes. Frankly, Oikawa isn't sure why he agreed to hang out in the first place when he probably should be sleeping, but he doesn't argue.

“Rough day at sea?” Oikawa asks, twirling around a pencil he had brought with him. He was sketching diagrams in a notebook, out of mere habit more than anything. The graphite stains the back of his hand, but it’s almost permanent at this point, so he doesn't mind.

Iwaizumi groans. “I woke up at two-thirty, we were on the water by three. Caught three tuna, which I can’t even be excited for ‘cause I’m so tired.”

“Mm, I slept in until seven. Went for a jog,” Oikawa teases.

“On the pier?”

Oikawa’s demeanour drops. “No, in the trails.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You went through all that trouble of gettin’ the floodgate fixed so you can walk on it, and for what?” he asks, shaking his head.

Oikawa fights a wince. Iwaizumi answered his own question, and Oikawa knows why he fixed it as well as he does.

“How is he?” Oikawa asks, setting down his pencil and looking Iwaizumi in the eye.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Better, you could say. It’s been a few months, but you need t’give him time before he’ll speak to you properly,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Six years is a long time to sit on why someone left without telling you. You need to respect that there’s a possibility he won’t ever speak to you again.”

“Is it selfish to say I don’t think he’d be the type to do that?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi takes another sip of his coffee. “It isn’t. Shouyou isn’t that sort of person. He’s really loving, and cares so much…” Iwaizumi trails off, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “I just want him to be happy. He deserves that, so don’t rush what you have planned.”

“I don’t have anything planned,” Oikawa says truthfully. “An apology is all I want to offer him.”

“Don’t rush it then,” Iwaizumi warns. Somehow, the advice comes off more like a threat, and Oikawa nods, knowing that Iwaizumi means well. He’s learnt his lesson— and to this day it’s the thing he regrets most about leaving. But Oikawa isn’t stupid, and he knows how the physics of this world works, knows there’s no use in going back in time or dwelling on what you’d change. He’s had six years to think about that, and all that there is for him to do is offer an apology, a smile, a chance for closure and maybe something sweeter— redemption.

Of course, it won’t work if Oikawa doesn't try. So he relearns the town like it’s an old friend, gets used to the pace and forces himself to come down from whatever plane he used to live on. He smiles when he says goodbye to Iwaizumi, pays for his coffee and heads towards the library.

He can’t force Hinata to speak to him again, and Oikawa won’t blame him if he doesn’t. Instead, he knows that all he can do is show that he’s changed, and take whatever comes with it.

—

**_Summer, 2010_ **

Iwaizumi doesn’t usually go fishing in the afternoon. The sun gets too hot, and the sea gets a little more feisty, and in general, more busy. It’s always a pain, leaving Hinata so early in the morning, but it works out when they meet again to walk to the markets and school. It’s an odd morning routine, but it’s one that works nonetheless.

Today is different. The weather is supposed to be overcast, meaning there’ll be a low chance of sun, and after a week of waking up at unreasonable times and, for the most part, having mediocre success, Iwaizumi was ready to chance it for a few extra hours of sleep. Hinata giggled when he told him, kissing his forehead and slipping out from the tangled sheets once he had to start getting ready.

“Mm,” Iwaizumi mumbles, cracking open an eye to watch Hinata change out of his oversized shirt. “Ten more minutes?”

Hinata looks over his shoulder, pouting as he buttons up his shirt. “I’ll make it up to you, Hajime,” he says, abandoning the buttons to press a chaste kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips, too short for Iwaizumi’s liking. “See you tonight, babe.”

“Remember we’re goin’ to m’parent’s for dinner,” Iwaizumi says, snuggling back into the bed. He shuts his eyes again, and even though the sheets are a little less cold and a little more empty, he still manages to slip back into sleep without hearing Hinata’s response.

So, Iwaizumi sleeps in until noon, is on the water by one-thirty, has a bit better of a day than he had previously and manages to sell the catch for a little extra. It’s half past five when he gets back home, shirt soaked in sweat, hair a mess, jeans stained with salt water and blood from nicking himself on a hook.

“I’m home!” Iwaizumi calls pushing open the door. Bok Choy greets him, sniffing his hands and looking for potential snacks. Iwaizumi smiles, scratching him behind the ears before looking around. “Shouyou?”

“Up here!” Hinata calls from the bedroom. “I’m working on report cards for the students. Go ahead and take a shower while I finish up!”

Iwaizumi laughs softly at Hinata for calling across the house, but takes no heed at his suggestion— there’s a thick layer of grime that coats all of his skin and clothes, gritty underneath his fingernails and chafes against his clothes. Pulling off his shirt as he walks down the hall, Iwaizumi gets the shower started, not bothering to wait until the water warms to slip under, revelling in the way the cool spray washes over him. He takes his time scrubbing his hair and shoulders, humming as he goes along, taking note of the one chipped tile in the shower he’ll have to fix. Eventually, once he’s finally gotten the extra layer of grime off of his skin, he turns off the the shower and steps out. He’s quick to towel dry his hair and wrap a towel around his waist, making his way down the hall and back to the bedroom.

“Hey, Shouyou,” Iwaizumi says as he pushes open the door. “How was your—” Iwaizumi freezes once he looks up to spot Hinata, sitting cross legged in the middle of their made bed, wearing nothing but one of his button down shirts, left open and loose to expose his chest. Iwaizumi is very much aware of how red he must be turning now, because Hinata’s grin widens into something ridiculously coy.

“Shut the door behind you,” Hinata says, and Iwaizumi complies without hesitation.

“What’s gotten inta you?” Iwaizumi asks as he moves towards the bed, dropping the towel onto the floor beside him.

Hinata outstretches his arms, reaching to wrap them around Iwaizumi’s shoulders and pull him down on top of him. “Said I was gonna make it up to you, didn't I?”

Iwaizumi answers by burying his face into Hinata’s neck, suckling on where his jaw meets his neck. Hinata’s breath hitches, and Iwaizumi can practically _hear_ him smiling as he runs his fingers through Iwaizumi’s wet hair, pulling him closer as he wraps his legs around Iwaizumi’s torso. Iwaizumi doesn't stray from his task at leaving soft marks along the pulse points of Hinata’s throat, even when Hinata begins arching his back and tugging.

Iwaizumi breathes in the lemon scent of Hinata’s body wash once more before pulling away from his neck, running his thumb over the blooming bruises once, twice, three times. Hinata grows impatient with his ministrations, tugging him down to connect their mouths together. Hinata hums in content at the contact, allowing Iwaizumi to move his hands to roam his sides and chest, leaving phantom touches to ghost his skin. Hinata bites down on Iwaizumi’s lip, dragging it out until he tastes iron. Iwaizumi rolls his hips down against Hinata’s, relishing in the quiet moan that slips from Hinata’s lips. Iwaizumi sits back on Hinata’s hips, breaking the kiss to look down at his body, taking in the sight of freckle flecked skin against the smooth white of his now rumpled button down.

“You look pretty in my shirts,” Iwaizumi tells him, playing with the fabric idly. “But you look beautiful in anything.”

Hinata’s composure breaks, his cheeks flushing pink as he turns his cheek to the side, pressing his face into a pillow. Iwaizumi chuckles, leaning back down to rest his lips on Hinata’s sternum, hands traversing the dips in his hipbones. Hinata shivers again as Iwaizumi continues moving lower. Iwaizumi enjoys this so much, the time spent between his thighs and in their own world together, forgetting whatever they were supposed to remember in favour of drinking in the noises Hinata makes as he writhes.

And Iwaizumi lifts Hinata’s legs so they rest over his shoulders, sucking marks up the inside of his thigh until he hears Hinata sigh and arch his back in wanting more. Iwaizumi sinks until his throat won’t let him anymore, nose pressed to Hinata’s pelvis, hands gripped in hair and sheets, shoulders pressed by heels of feet, whispers of _Hajime, I’m close_ sang out like bird calls through an otherwise quiet room. It’s a thousand things at once, each one of them beautiful and concentrated in their bliss.

Later, when Hinata’s blunt nails are raking down Iwaizumi’s back, bodies pressed together with sweat beading at their hairlines, Iwaizumi gets to watch how Hinata’s eyes flutter shut, how something as simple as a drag of fingertips over his ribs can be the overstimulation that threatens to bring him to the edge. All his limbs feel heavy, and all Iwaizumi can do is bury his face in Hinata’s neck, pressing sloppy kisses there until Hinata’s breath begins to hitch.

When it’s over, they lay on top of each other, too tired to move and in no rush to get dressed. Iwaizumi has half the memory to clean them up before flopping back onto the bed and turning so that he can face Hinata.

Iwaizumi wraps his arms around Hinata’s waist, tugging him closer into his arms. Hinata wriggles so that he can rest his head on Iwaizumi’s collarbone, tilting his head to smile up at Iwaizumi. The marks on his neck have begun to bruise, turning a darker shade of purple against the olive tones of his skin. Hinata sighs, curling his leg over Iwaizumi’s hip as Iwaizumi brushes his fingers through his hair, the ginger hair ruffled and making it incredibly apparent as to what had just happened. Hinata closes his eyes as Iwaizumi pets his hair, practically purring at the touch.

“Sorry for wrecking your shirt,” Hinata says with a smirk, not sounding sorry at all.

Iwaizumi laughs, the vibrations flowing through Hinata’s body. “I don’t mind, if it leads to this,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Maybe you should steal my clothes more often.”

“Already do,” Hinata chimes. “My closet is sixty-five percent yours.”

Iwaizumi presses a kiss to Hinata’s head, just because he can. “Soon I won’t have anythin’ to wear when we go—”

“Shit,” Hinata interrupts, eyes snapping open. “Your family dinner.”

Iwaizumi tenses up, shifting to face Hinata. They stare at each other, wide eyed for a few passing seconds, before bolting upright, tossing the covers off of their bodies and scrambling to the closet. Hinata shuffles through the drawers for underwear and a (clean and untainted) shirt to wear as Iwaizumi worked on finding a clean pair of not fish stained pants to wear. It’s a task that takes them a minute and a half in their haste, and neither bother to even look in the mirror as they shove their feet into their shoes. Bok Choy trots along behind them as Iwaizumi fixes his shirt, Hinata still struggling with the buttons as they pile into Iwaizumi’s truck. As it starts up, the tiny clock on the dash lights up, signalling that they’re half an hour late already.

Iwaizumi looks over to Hinata as he heads down the cliff switchbacks watching as he leans back against the seat, still exhausted and glowing from earlier. Iwaizumi can’t hold back the laugh at the absurdity of the situation— this is something they normally do, missing events to fool around, showing up in a rush that makes it obvious of what they were doing. Hinata finds it funny too, leaning back so that his head hits the seat, giggling as Bok Choy licks his face. It’s another five or so minutes before they arrive at Iwaizumi’s childhood home, and by then they’re late enough that all of their rushing really didn't change anything. Kicking open the door and letting Bok Choy run out, Iwaizumi steps out of the truck, shutting the door and walking around to open Hinata’s. His boyfriend raises his eyebrows as Iwaizumi helps him out, waving to his nephews that run around the yard.

“You ready t’face the wrath of all of my aunties at once?” Iwaizumi asks, fixing Hinata’s collar as they approach the door.

Hinata pales. “I don’t think I ever am, but let's give it a go.”

Iwaizumi holds his hand tightly, opening up the door and letting Bok Choy barrel past them first. The second they get in, they’re swarmed with the smell of food cooking and a few dogs that come to greet them, followed by Iwaizumi’s mother, who keeps her hands firmly on her hips.

“Hajime, Shouyou!” she calls, rounding the corner from the kitchen. “Where have you two been?”

Iwaizumi rubs the back off his neck as she shakes her head, looking them up and down. He’s instantly aware of their appearances, both marked up, and dear _god_ , Hinata’s hair must be a mess. His mother purses her lips before smiling, shaking her head and pulling them into a hug.

“Next time, set an alarm,” she tells them. “And Shouyou, honey, do you want some ice?”

Hinata’s hand instantly rushes up to his neck, and Iwaizumi’s face reddens almost as much as Hinata’s as his mother grins knowingly, turning around to head back to the kitchen. Hinata looks as if he’s about to combust, staring down at the floor with wide eyes.

“Hajime,” he says. “Is it that noticeable?”

Iwaizumi tilts his chin up quickly, looking at the marks on his neck. “Not really. There’s only two that you can see without trying.”

Hinata sighs, intertwining his hand with Iwaizumi’s as they make their way to the backyard where people sit, talking and laughing. Iwaizumi breathes in the late spring air as the kids run up to them, Bok Choy bounding at their heels at nearly twice their height. Hinata, ever the best with children, crouches down, tucking his niece’s hair behind her ear before bopping her nose and standing back up. Bok Choy drops a stick at Iwaizumi’s feet, and he tosses across the yard, laughing when both the dog and the kids run after it.

Iwaizumi’s family is large, to say the least. He’s the middle child of five, with two older siblings and two younger, and the eldest has already popped out two kids. On his mother’s side are three aunts, his father’s four, creating a gaggle of well meaning family members who are maybe a little too alike. When they have big family dinners, the line between family and friend blurs, and often times people who aren't related in the slightest end up in attendance. Hinata’s mom and sister are somewhere, and as Hinata looks through the backyard for them with Iwaizumi, he spots someone else entirely.

Oikawa Tooru sits with one of Iwaizumi’s cousins, braiding her hair as she talks about a school science project. He’s calmer than either have seen him in awhile, listening animatedly, still making remarks like he always has, but there’s something almost sleepy in the movements of his hands, the blink of his eyes. It isn’t quite something Iwaizumi can put a name to. Beside him, Hinata tenses slightly.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, turning to him and grabbing his hands. “I didn't know he’d be here. Are you alright?”

Hinata hesitates, but nods. “I’m okay, Hajime. Thank you,” he says, and it’s genuine enough that Iwaizumi drops the tension in his shoulders. “Do you wanna help with dinner?”

Iwaizumi nods, squeezing Hinata’s hands. “Might as well be useful for something,” he jokes lightly, just to see how Hinata’s eyes light up as he bumps their shoulders together, leading him back through the patio door and into the house.

—

Oikawa didn't expect to be at the Iwaizumi family dinner. It wasn't in the plan, wasn't what was arranged, but when Iwaizumi’s mother had run into him at the market, he knew there was no escaping the get together in the end.

“You’re family to us all,” she assured him as they made their way over, Oikawa carrying her groceries. “God knows you spent more time under my roof than your own.”

Oikawa had almost laughed at that— almost. Either way, he ended up in the childhood home of his best friend, chopping up vegetables until the cooking got too complicated for him to pursue, moving onto slipping outside to mingle with people who still somehow remembered his name.

It’s small talk, but Oikawa is nothing if not a charmer, answers the questions of _so you were on a big shot experiment team in Tokyo, huh?_ enough times that the answer becomes the same. Smile, reply, laugh, change subject, lest it not stray into the territory of _have you and Shouyou been talking again? Isn’t it nice to see him?_

Honest answer part one: No, they haven't been talking besides the little glares Hinata throws at him when their eyes meet. By now, those have become few and far between as well.

Honest answer part two: Yes, it’s so nice, but it’d be nicer if the weight of the biggest mistake he ever made wasn't sitting on his chest, crushing his lung cavity every time he tries to say hello. It’d be a lot nicer if Hinata would meet his eyes and smile, even if Oikawa doesn't deserve it.

So here he is, braiding the hair of a cousin of Iwaizumi’s he doesn't remember the name of who was barely walking when he left, playing fetch with the many dogs that linger around the window near the kitchen. It isn’t until he turns around after finishing the girl’s hair that he meets Hinata’s eyes for a split second before waving in a way he prays isn’t too much. Hinata falters slightly, holds Iwaizumi closer, but Iwaizumi smiles and waves back, lips still moving from afar as he speaks to Hinata.

Of course Hinata would be here— he’s dating Iwaizumi, after all. And yet it feels slightly dampening, like Oikawa’s intruding, the same kind of nostalgia-tainted numbness that’s been lurking around him ever since he’s arrived back in town. More than anything, Oikawa is tired, wants to sleep and stop answering the same questions, wants to stop pretending he doesn't need something to lean on and he can stand fine on his own.

Oikawa observes more than he talks for the rest of the night, watches how Hinata and Iwaizumi hold hands under the table, how they share a plate of dessert and sit close together on the love-seat wicker swing-set on the porch. Hinata glows, shines, and Iwaizumi soaks up that light, looks happy and relaxed and drops the scowl from his face to lace their fingers together and rest his head on Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata’s got two hickeys on his neck, not that dark, but they’re there, fresh and a deeper shade of brown than the skin around it. Oikawa does his best not to stare, really.

Cleaning up the plates is a task he takes on voluntarily out of sheer need for a distraction. The dishes aren't that bad— so many of the plates are paper, but all of the pots need to be scrubbed— but take an ample amount of time, enough so that the sun begins to set as Oikawa works. The windows above the kitchen sink are open, and he can hear the laughter and talk from the people outside. If he concentrates hard enough, he’s not twenty-five, but eighteen, and Iwaizumi and Hinata are just sitting at the counter beside him, working on their literature homework together and laughing at the big words. It’s been too long since Oikawa felt that young, that happy, and the memory of lighter times makes him feel a little like he’s floating.

He’s barely made a dent in the dishes when he falls into a rhythm, finding relaxation in the mind numbing work. He’s begun to sing quietly under his breath, barely audible over the tap water and clinking of dishes. It’s noisy enough that he doesn’t hear the screen door when it’s thrown open, only looks up when he hears someone yelp. He isn’t expecting to see Hinata hopping up and down a few times, presumably from stubbing his toe, nearly dropping his bottle.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa asks, dropping the plate back into the water.

“Just fine,” Hinata says curtly, standing back up straight and tilting his chin into the air. Oikawa smiles in a way he hopes is welcoming before turning back to the dishes, at lost for what to say, not knowing how to start a conversation with someone who surely hates him.

Hinata moves to stand beside him, reaching up for the top cabinet in attempt to grab a wine glass. He struggles for a few moments, jumping slightly to reach. Oikawa dries his hand on his jeans before cracking open the cabinet and grabbing the wineglass for him, handing it to Hinata. Hinata stares at him as if he has four heads before taking the glass from his hands and placing it on the counter, instead grabbing a towel and beginning to dry the plates.

“For the record,” Hinata says as he works and Oikawa stares. “I’m doing this to help out the Iwaizumis, not you.”

Oikawa blinks in surprise, but smirks, moving over slightly so Hinata has elbow room. They work mostly in silence, as Oikawa ponders what he could possibly say to start a conversation with Hinata. There’s a thousand things he wants to ask, a million things he wants to know, but settles for a safe _so, you’re teaching?_ and prays he doesn't scoff.

He doesn’t, but he does side eye Oikawa with a bit of distrust. “Yeah, kindergarten. It’s my second year,” he tells him. “Not exactly literature, but I’m teaching them how I wish I was.”

Oikawa laughs, not knowing if it was a joke. “That sounds nice. Is it still in the room with the cherry tree outside?”

Hinata dries another dish, setting it on the rack. “Yeah. You remember that?”

“It’s pretty. Why wouldn't I?” Oikawa answers.

Hinata doesn't answer, continuing with the task. Oikawa reminds himself not to take offence, giving Hinata time to think. It’s once he realizes that he’s taking too much time to wash that he sees he’s afraid of saying something wrong, of accidentally saying something and seeing Hinata be hurt. It’s why, when Hinata initiates the conversation, that he’s taken aback.

“So, you’re renting out a room at the bed and breakfast?” Hinata asks.

Oikawa tries to ignore how happy that makes him. “Yes,” he answers, maybe a little too quickly. “Like it’s an apartment. It’s really nice there— cozier than I’m used to.”

“And are you doing anything besides trying to fix out-of-code bridges?” Hinata asks, and Oikawa isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be teasing or chiding.

“Well, I’m working at the library mainly,” Oikawa says. He’s about to continue on when he looks at the sink to see it’s empty, and that the last dish washed was already handed to Hinata.

“Works much faster with two pairs of hands,” Hinata comments, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Want something to drink?”

Oikawa can’t mask the surprise on his face at Hinata’s offer. It’s not as if Hinata is a bitter person— on the contrary, he’s the type to be kind, even to those he dislikes— but Oikawa can’t shake the flutter at being acknowledged in an almost normal way.

It’s not perfect. He understands that. There’s awkward lapses in conversation, and the obvious treading on eggshells when they get too close to a conversation topic that could be sensitive. Oikawa asks more questions than he answers, keeps them casual, shy of impersonal, leaves the option for Hinata to leave whenever he wants. Despite it all, it’s the first time he’s felt the ache be lifted off his shoulders in a while. Hinata is still skeptical around him, but manages to crack a smile and even laugh once or twice.

The moment shines through like glass in crystal, but it doesn't make it seem less like six years and more like six days, doesn't erase the memories of leaving they both hold close to their chests. So the moment breaks, but they knew it would— Hinata finishes his drink and is called elsewhere. Oikawa is left with a Hinata shaped hole burnt into his mind and an overwhelming sense of something small, something sweet.

Hope.

—

It’s nice, being on the water. Hinata inhales the smell of the salt as the boat rocks from side to side, Iwaizumi having anchored them for the time being. Instead of looking out at the scenery, they lie beside each other on the deck, Hinata’s large, floppy sun hat shielding his face from the brightness and Iwaizumi soaking up the rays as if he were photosynthesizing. The sun is growing heavier with every passing minute, falling low into the sky as it sets, a surefire sign that they should go, but neither make any move to get up. Perhaps the only thing warmer than the sun’s rays is Iwaizumi, and Hinata will never pass up lying across his bare chest, having fingers tangle through his hair. Conversation flows easy like the tide, pulls and pushes with silences and periods where neither can stop talking, when Hinata gets too excited and uses his hands. Iwaizumi presses kisses to his cheek when he does this, but nothing, not even that, can stop the topic of Oikawa from coming up.

“You talked to him at the dinner,” Iwaizumi states. “Was it okay?”

Hinata’s stomach tightens, and he hesitates. “It was… different. He seems so tired, I don’t really get it,” Hinata says. “But he still laughed and joked and acted insufferably indignant, and he still prefers white wine to red.”

Iwaizumi hums in reply as Hinata shifts his weight to get a better look at him. “I expected to feel broken longer,” Hinata tells him. “I don’t know what I’m feeling now.”

“Confused? Conflicted?” Iwaizumi asks. The boat rocks a little harder, and his grip on Hinata’s waist steadies them.

“I just…” Hinata trails off. “I wanted to hate him— I still expect myself to hate him, but I can’t. I haven’t forgotten how much it hurt, and it still does, but I can’t loathe him for coming back.”

A gust of wind nearly blows off his hat, and Iwaizumi reaches out to grab it. When he leans back, it’s for them to be face to face, noses touching, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Maybe this is the first step to getting better,” Iwaizumi says. “To… not get over it, but grow past it.”

Hinata leans forwards, resting his forehead onto Iwaizumi’s. “Grow past it,” he repeats softly. “That sounds nice, doesn't it?”

Iwaizumi looks down, lacing his and Hinata’s hands together. “We can grow together, and grow past things, and grow a garden with sunflowers and lilies,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Hinata looks from their hands to Iwaizumi’s face. “The cliff is too rocky for plants.”

“We can work something out,” Iwaizumi promises. “We always do.”

Hinata smiles as Iwaizumi raises his knuckles to kiss them, looking up at him through his eyelashes. The sunset fades behind them in hues of gold and orange, red where it meets the horizon of the sea. The warmth fades into his skin, tans it to a glow that sparkles like the light that cascades off of the water. Iwaizumi brushes his hair back behind his ear, pushes his hat back a little more so that he can press his lips soft to his.

Things change like the days, like the phases of the moon, like the seasons and the tides. Hinata closes his eyes and embraces it like a lover, lets in the feeling of things that don’t always stay the same.


	5. chapter four: supernova

_**Summer, 2010** _

 

Hinata counts the heads of his students one last time, making sure that everyone is counted for. There’s fifteen students in his class this year, all bright eyes and round cheeks and laughter as they approach the library. It was at the principal’s insistence that he went, after being told there was some kind of event happening that the kids would likely love. Hinata jumped on the opportunity, knowing how excited the children got at the prospect of going somewhere other than the classroom. It’s always hectic, loud, a little bit hard to handle when the go into town— but it’s worth it when they finally get where they’re going.

Today, the library is busy for a weekday, people entering and exiting and milling about the outdoor benches, laughing and talking in a buzz. Hinata gathers his students together, reminding them again that they can’t yell inside beside holding the door open and letting them enter.

The inside is even busier than out, but that’s not what catches him off guard. Instead, it’s the empty space that’s become filled with huge oak shelves, filled to the brim with books— both old and new. The kids move forwards towards the children’s area, welcomed by a librarian with short blonde hair and a light laugh, leaving Hinata to wander through the building.

Books still lay on carts, and several volunteers work on assigning them to the shelves. Hinata shakes his head in disbelief, running his fingers over the spines of books of every kind, textbooks that are up to date, translated books, manga, and brand new classics that don't fray at the edges. Hinata can’t even reach the highest shelf now, can’t even navigate the labyrinth of new books that are around him.

It’s as he rounds a corner that he bumps into someone, knocking the books out of their arms. Hinata immediately yelps, apologizing in a hushed whisper as he crouches down to pick up their books. When he bounces back up, it’s to be face-to-face with Oikawa Tooru, glasses askew and a look of joy shining from his pores.

“Oh,” Hinata says, bewildered. “You work here, right.”

Oikawa smirks. “Yes, I do. Do you like the new addition?” he asks, gesturing gleefully to their surroundings.

Hinata sighs in amazement. “How’d you even get all of this? Where’d the library find the money?”

Oikawa hastily fixes his glasses, averting his eyes. “Ah, well, they didn’t. I did,” he confesses.

“What?” Hinata asks, cocking his head.

“I always hated how little stock the library had, so I figured it was about time someone donated to it,” Oikawa explains. “They have lists online of essential books, but I may have been a bit biased with the rest.”

Hinata blinks twice, shaking his head. “Wait, you mean you _paid_ for all of this?”

Oikawa shrugs. “I owe something to this place. It’s the least I could do.”

“With what money?” Hinata asks, still confused as to exactly how Oikawa could afford to do something this large scale.

“I earned a lot from the research teams I was on in Tokyo— entered a lot of contests with cash prizes, worked on my experiments a little too much,” Oikawa says, as if it were nothing. “I don't know what else to spend the money on, if I’m honest.”

Hinata looks at Oikawa in a mix of confusion and awe. Out all of the things he could spend hundreds of thousands of yen on, it’s hard to imagine that Oikawa would spend it on a town he only just returned to, a town he used to curse. Hinata doesn't understand it, but he lets himself smile anyways, looking back up to Oikawa.

“I have to get back to my class,” Hinata says. “But thank you for this. Everyone will love it.”

Hinata turns and leaves before he can catch the dusting of pink on Oikawa’s cheeks, before he can see how his mouth opens and closes like that of a goldfish. There’s a peculiar kind of lightness that follows him as he returns to his class to switch out with the librarian for a group reading, the kind that makes his mind wander and forget to check something out.

—

Iwaizumi hasn’t yet visited the new and improved library yet. Between Hinata and Oikawa’s constant talking about it, he has a pretty good idea of how different it is, and it was only a matter of time before Hinata dragged him out of the house and into town, raving on about the things he could find and the books he could read.

“New ones, babe,” Hinata exclaimed. “Ones we haven't read before!”

Iwaizumi’s heart flutters even after all this time, and he leans down to kiss Hinata’s cheek as they make their way through the doors. He’s the reason why he’s going in the first place, and Iwaizumi knows he’d do anything to make sure Hinata smiles.

He wasn't lying about the grandeur— little shelves that once held books torn at the spines now reach to the ceiling, carry books stacked one atop each other until they can’t fit. Hinata whisper shouts in joy, leading him down an aisle to search for something to read. It’s almost overwhelming— the selection, the memories of doing the same as kids with so much less to choose from, how blindingly happy Hinata is as he pulls books off the shelves and reads the synopsis aloud.

“Looking for something?” a voice asks, startling them both. Iwaizumi turns to hit Oikawa’s shoulder, already recognizing the voice enough to tense up. It’s a little cocky, a little teasing, but definitely tentative in the presence of Hinata, who freezes slightly beside him at Oikawa’s appearance.

“We were looking,” Hinata says quickly, tumbling over his words in haste. “For books, I mean.”

Oikawa raises a brow. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Iwaizumi glares towards him in response, causing Oikawa to immediately apologize, eyes widening in fear. Hinata stands at his side immobile for a few moments, before doing something almost miraculous:

He laughs.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa together both stare at him as he shakes his head, covering his mouth to hush himself in the otherwise quiet of the library. It shocks them both, makes them look towards each other with side eyes as if to say _what did you do?_ Hinata straightens back up, coughing a little to break the tension before grabbing Iwaizumi’s hand and smiling.

“Well, then can you find us a book to read?” Hinata asks, as if this were casual, his voice wavering only slightly, only noticeable because Iwaizumi was looking for it. The grip on his hand is steel, but Hinata doesn't move, faces Oikawa without flinching and doesn't twist in agony when Oikawa smiles and pulls a book down from the shelf with the prospect of it being _a good book for you two._

And it _is_ casual, it should be casual. There’s a heavy air of something that still plagues them as Oikawa explains the book with a little too much earnest, rambling on, keeping his eyes down towards his hands as not to meet Hinata’s. And yet, beyond the awkwardness, a connection grows, weak, like the first notes of a song through radio static out of range. Iwaizumi watches Hinata grow enough not to jump away when Oikawa’s arm brushes his in grabbing something off of the shelf, feels the way the vice grip on his hand becomes looser.

 _It won’t always hurt,_ was what he had promised. Iwaizumi smiles and grabs a book off the shelf to show Hinata, and sends Oikawa a nod. Something is coming together. He doesn't know what, but it reassembles and bends into place with rough edges. Like clockwork gears grinding, Iwaizumi embraces the moment and supports Hinata like an anchor, and waits for it to come together.

—

Spring cleaning comes a season late every year. It’s an ordeal when it comes to Iwaizumi’s family home— every window needs to be wiped clean of mould, every nook and cranny dusted, every old rug or moth eaten curtain changed. Hinata’s roped in by virtue of dating Iwaizumi, thus being a part of the family, meaning that his mid-August Saturday is about to be spent on his hands and knees scrubbing tiles and admiring Iwaizumi as he does yard work without a shirt.

Well. If he _chooses_ to do yard work without a shirt. Hinata sure hopes he does.

For now, he and Iwaizumi brace themselves at the door, hesitating before pushing it open and unleashing the chaos. Somehow it’s only now that Iwaizumi’s aunties decide not to show, but that doesn't stop his mother from meeting them at the door with Oikawa at her heels, beaming proudly with his hair tied back in a bandanna.

“Good, you two are on time for once,” she says. “Tooru was here early, now would you look at that?”

Iwaizumi winces as Hinata giggles beside him. “Sorry, Ma. You want me to prune the trees and work with the garden?”

“Of course I do. Shouyou, dear, do you think you can spray the lilies with this?” Iwaizumi’s mother asks, handing him a spray bottle. “The aphids are eating through the leaves again. I’ve sent the kids to catch lady bugs to help with that as well.” Hinata nods, taking the bottle and smiling towards Iwaizumi.

“As for you!” Iwaizumi’s mother exclaims, turning to Oikawa. “You’re wiping down the windows of mould. Make sure to get in the cracks— it’s easier to do from the outside if you open them up first. I expect you three to be finished in an hour or so, that way you can help with lunch. Okay?”

There’s a course of _yes ma’am_ before she smiles wide, crows feet crinkling at the eyes before she turns around to get back to what she was doing, leaving the three to stare at each other with wide eyes. It’s Iwaizumi who breaks the silence with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“So, has my mother worked you t’death yet?” Iwaizumi asks Oikawa.

Oikawa shrugs. “Eh, not really. We caught up on gossip while scrubbing the oven.”

Hinata rolls his eyes, pushing open the front door. “You two wanna chit-chat and risk getting an earful again?” Hinata flashes a bright smile, cheeky and coy. It leaves them both dumbfounded and a little starstruck, wide-eyed as Hinata turns around and walks right back out the door, making his way to where all of the lilies lay.

Out of all of them, he’s got the easy job, spraying plants with the solution and flicking off the little green bugs that have been eating holes in the leaves. From where he’s crouched, though, he gets a good view of Iwaizumi as he cuts away the dead branches of their chokecherry tree, shirt unfortunately still on, but biceps moving visibly from his sleeves. Hinata catches himself sighing as he watches, getting distracted long enough to not notice the aphids crawling onto his hand. A little ways away Oikawa stands by the open windows, tossing blackened paper towels into a bucket as he scrubs the windows clean.

Hinata finishes quickly, choosing to sit cross legged in the garden for a few moments, admiring Iwaizumi as he works, blowing him kisses when their eyes meet. Every so often, he steals a glance towards Oikawa, catches him staring once or twice. Oikawa’s quick to look away most times, but once, he just raises a brow and smiles, sticking out his tongue before turning back to his job.

Growing bored of sitting in the dirt, Hinata fetches the hose, settling on a new task of watering the plants. Iwaizumi finishes next, moving beside him to begin weeding the plants. Hinata accidentally sprays him with the hose, yelping and dropping it once he realizes he’s gotten Iwaizumi wet. Iwaizumi simply laughs, shaking his head as Hinata goes back to watering. Silently, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze towards Oikawa, who works away without paying them any attention. They look at each other, then back down to the hose, Hinata’s eyes flickering with mischievous glee.

Without a second thought, Hinata turns the spray to Oikawa, catching him off guard and spraying him right in the back of his head. Oikawa makes an indignant noise of terror, stumbling as he turns around to get a face full of water that drenches his hair and the front of his shirt. Hinata stops the hose for a few moments to shrug coyly as Oikawa stares at him, dripping wet, taking a step back as Oikawa moves forwards with his spray bottle in hand. Really, it’s nothing next to the hose, which Hinata aims at his shoes, giving him a soaker and causing him to trip just as Iwaizumi flicks dirt onto his cheek.

“Y-you!” Oikawa stutters dramatically. “Oh my god, I _trusted_ you!”

Iwaizumi laughs as Hinata snickers, spraying his face again. This time, Oikawa expects it, and moves forwards to rip the hose from an unsuspecting Hinata’s hands, turning it around to soak Hinata instead. He screeches, managing to grab the hose back, flinging it around and accidentally soaking himself and Iwaizumi in one go.

It’s a mess of a free-for-all after that, everyone fighting for the hose and a desperately trying not to fall in the plants or the mud. In the end, they all end up drenched and covered with dirt, hair in varying stages of disarray. When it’s all over, and they’re all panting in exhaustion, Hinata looks up to see Oikawa’s eyes sparkling softly, as if to absorb and marvel at a view or soak up the surroundings. Hinata smiles towards him before wringing out his shirt, stomach twisting in ways that send a buzz through his veins that’s all too familiar, a buzz he embraces like the sunlight that beats down around them.

—

By August, Oikawa has developed a sort of routine. Mornings, before the library opens, he dons an old sweatshirt and sports shorts and jogs through the trails and loops around on the dock, stopping at the market for groceries before returning back home to shower and get ready. It’s humid enough that his hair is a wavy mess in ways he’s not quite used to, fluffy and flopping as he paces himself through the tree shrouded paths that wind low and high. More than anything, he enjoys the freshness of it all, how the air is always clear and without smog, how there’s no need to wear a mask or stay indoors. He can smell bakery goods instead of car exhaust, feels a little less out of breath by the time he finishes the circuit.

Oikawa turns, jogging down to where the path turns steep as it approaches the dock. It’s a few minutes until he finally reaches even ground, and once he does, he grants himself the treat of slowing his pace and cooling down as he walks along the boardwalk. He looks out at the ocean, whose waves lap lazily at the pier, spotting a familiar head of ginger hair sitting at the dock alone, legs swung over in the water. Hinata looks peaceful as he looks out at the ocean, towards a boat that comes closer with every passing second, one that Oikawa can only assume is Iwaizumi’s. He doesn't notice that he’s staring towards him until he realizes he’s stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed on nothing else but him.

The boat grows closer, close enough that Oikawa can spot the flags that are strung up the rigger. Without his glasses, he has to squint to really make them out, but it’s not that that captures his attention— it’s Hinata, per usual. He stands up quickly, stumbling in his haste, blocking the sun from his eyes and whooping.

“You come here often?” Oikawa calls as he makes his way over, curious to see what the commotion is about. Hinata is a bit startled and jumps away, but quickly regains composure and looks back out on the sea.

“Every morning he’s out, I wait for him,” Hinata says. “But that flag there? That’s something new.”

Oikawa squints enough to make out the white flag strung high for all to see, with a blue marlin embedded in bright colour. It’s the first time he’s seen one flown in a while— the tell tale sign of a sport fisherman’s catch.

“Hajime!” Hinata shouts as Iwaizumi brings the boat closer. “Is that a marlin flag?”

“You bet it is,” Iwaizumi says, jumping out of the boat. “Oh my god, help me with the ropes and I’ll pull it out.”

Oikawa looks towards Hinata, who excitably scrambles to grab the rope and fenders as Iwaizumi steers his way in. Everyone, including two of Iwaizumi’s other crew members and Oikawa, works to get the boat docked in record time, all anxious to see the catch. By the time they’ve finished, Hinata is vibrating with excitement, hopping up and down as Iwaizumi grins. It takes three people to hoist the fish from the water— it was too big to keep in the boat, and four to hold it upright on the dock to present it. Iwaizumi keeps the nose, long and sharp, pointed steady, hands underneath the head and displaying it with pride.

“Oh my god,” Hinata says, looking at it. “I could kiss you— this is amazing, Hajime—”

Iwaizumi laughs as he strains to hold the fish up. Even with four people, it’s heavy enough to weigh their arms down as if they were lead. Oikawa shakes his head in wonder, not only at the catch, but at the little moment unbroken between Hinata and Iwaizumi, how their eyes meet, how Iwaizumi absorbs the elation Hinata radiates with his smile.

It occurs to Oikawa then and there how in love they are, how, despite the people who have started to crowd at the sight of the fish, they orbit around each other as if they were the only other person in the world. It makes his heart clench, makes his lips curve softly at the way they stay focused on one another, adoration so prevalent in every little motion.

“The camera,” Hinata says, eyes tearing from Iwaizumi to stare at the fish in it’s entirety. “We need to take a picture.”

“I’ll get it!” Oikawa volunteers, not wanting them to break their moment. Without a second thought, he climbs onto the boat, heading below the cabin to look for the polaroid camera he knows Iwaizumi keeps.

The little living area is cozy, how he remembered it, with the wool blanket and soft sofa, as well as a huge string of pictures hanging on the wall. Oikawa momentarily forgets his task of searching for the camera to look at them, from the newest ones of Iwaizumi and Hinata in their home, to the ones from as far back as childhood up until high school— photographs of him and Hinata leaning on each other, playing with sparklers, a blurry shot of himself he has no idea when was taken. It leaks nostalgia into his chest in a way that begins to become uncomfortable, sad, and Oikawa forces himself to look away and pick the camera up from the table where it sits.

It’s in pictures that this sort of thing get memorialized. In coloured snapshots of still memories, blurry candids and awkward smiles, dirty lenses and laugh lines revealed in humour. For now, Oikawa clicks photos of the crew holding the marlin in their arms, snaps one of Hinata and Iwaizumi staring at each other and takes a selfie for the hell of it.

 _Maybe_ , Oikawa thinks _, this was the trick to being immortal after all. Remembering._

—

Summer break ends in record high temperatures and blazing sun, leaving Hinata with more freckles than ever and Iwaizumi with brown skin bronzed even warmer. Even so, Hinata isn’t upset to return to the daily grind of school, smiles brightly and brings heaps of new books and lessons plans to the classroom. The students are curious as ever, asking question after question about the places in all of the books Hinata’s brought, inquiring about addition and subtraction and why anyone would ever want to give away three apples. It’s charming and adorable in a way Hinata never gets tired off, but tires him out come their nap time.

Today, he plans to play an ocean movie— Finding Nemo— knowing how excited they’ll get at the bright colours and fish. As they rest up, Hinata enlists the help of another teacher to watch them while he travels to the high school side of the school to fetch the television.

The school is two stories high, with most of the elementary classes being spilt grades on the ground floor, the high school ones taking up any empty classroom and the top. The elevator was a recent and much needed touch, making transporting the only television much easier for everyone involved. Hinata isn’t quite sure what room exactly it’s in, but from what he’s heard, the physics class had signed it out earlier that day.

Jogging up the steps, he rounds the corner to the classroom, knocking on the door lightly before slipping in. Inside the classroom, students converse quietly, pouring over textbooks as their teacher speaks with a familiar figure, one that Hinata is surprised to see.

“Oikawa?” he asks, walking towards him. “What’re you doing here?”

Oikawa turns around, shuffling the papers in his hands with a bright smile. “Ah, I was giving a presentation to encourage students to go into physics,” Oikawa tells him as the other teacher goes back to helping students. “I guess my experiment team winning all those prizes had something to do with it.”

Hinata cocks his head. “Prizes? What, like money?”

Oikawa laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, sometimes, but more prestige. Breakthrough prizes in fundamental physics, Nobel, that sort of thing.”

Hinata blinks twice, not believing what he was hearing. “You won a Nobel Prize?” he exclaims.

“No! I mean, _I_ didn’t— the scientists in charge did. I was chosen out of all of the university students to intern on the team though,” Oikawa rushes to explain. “Although I was compensated, but I wasn’t the one in charge or anything.”

Hinata exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. It’s fitting, that Oikawa would do something that grandeur. Hinata realizes he must be staring, but in his own amazement he can't be bothered to do anything but laugh lightly, staring up at Oikawa’s wide warm eyes like they’re the only thing keeping him down.

“That’s incredible,” he whispers. “Can you tell me more?”

Something about the way Oikawa’s face flickers makes his heart contract, makes him feel a little lightheaded. “Yeah,” he responds. “Of course. I’ll help you take the television downstairs and tell you about it.”

It’s in doing that that Hinata realizes how little he knows about Oikawa, how much he’s changed. He doesn't brag like he would as a teenager for exactly that reason— six years later and Oikawa is an adult, an adult with the same mannerisms and quirks but changed in a way that Hinata can’t wrap his mind around, the flaws polished down as if he had learned better. Oikawa talks with his hands and describes an experiment Hinata can’t even begin to understand, something about neutrinos having mass and oscillating, something about solar rays and subatomic particles that all sound the same. It makes more sense than whatever’s starting to cloud him, whatever wraps around him like a blanket and sends warmth through him in a way he isn't used to.

“The lab was a few kilometres below surface,” Oikawa tells him in a hushed voice as the students watch the movie. “You’d think it’d be cold, but it was really hot when you weren't in an area with insane AC. We had to shower before entering the lab.”

“Every time?” Hinata asks in disbelief.

Oikawa nods. “It was mind blowing at first. You’re analyzing something so small you can’t see it, and yet it’s a trillion times bigger than you. Science in general is like that, but I wasn't ready for this.”

“You must’ve loved it,” Hinata muses, leaning over so that he can hear.

Oikawa shrugs. “It was lonely, and a lot of work. I didn't sleep right for a year, but it was the most surreal moment yet. I loved it.”

Hinata turns his head, realizing how close their faces have gotten. Pulling away, he turns to face forward, feeling the tension creep back between them as the question lays unanswered and unaddressed in the air—

_If you loved it, why’d you leave?_

It feels like deja vu, that it always comes back to the same question. Hinata closes his eyes, wonders if he could figure Oikawa out by asking any other question but that, wonders if asking the question that sits heavy and large between them would even breathe closure in a memory he never wants to face.

—

**_Fall, 2010_ **

 

Really, Oikawa didn't have any plans for that night besides doing laundry and seeing if he could fix the wifi router in his apartment, but as he makes his way up the hill to Hinata and Iwaizumi’s house, he starts to wonder if he should've said he was busy.

Hinata had invited him over to hang out, have dinner and chat, like friends would, and the idea is still so impossibly unimaginable to Oikawa that he still thinks he’s dreaming. He hasn't been to Hinata’s house since he left, hasn't walked the steep path with its now new — thanks to Iwaizumi — steps to the house that sits on a cliff in years. It feels too intimate for something so small, makes his insides flip with anxiety. He’s brought a bottle of wine— white, and nice, but not too expensive— because that's what you do, right? Logically, he knows he’s overthinking this, but by the time he’s reached the front door, he knows there’s no turning back now.

Iwaizumi pulls it open while holding back his dog, who does his best to jump all over Oikawa and threatens to knock the bottle out of his hand. Quickly passing the bottle and a greeting to Iwaizumi, Oikawa allows himself to be mauled in kisses and licks by Bok Choy, crouching down to scratch behind his ears and bury his face into his fur.

“I can’t believe he likes you,” Iwaizumi says with disdain as he inspects the bottle Oikawa had handed him. “Thanks for the bottle. I’ll get Shouyou to fetch some glasses.”

“I heard my name!” Hinata calls from around the corner, walking in with a bright look on his face. Oikawa sits back up, Bok Choy trotting off as he rushes to stand up straight and greet Hinata, who simply giggles and leads them to the kitchen for dinner.

Things have changed. There’s less toys, more plants, different decor, and a new sofa. But the layout is the same, and the glasses are in their regular cupboard, and the dinner table still sits by the window overlooking the sea. It’s noisy and loud how dinners between them always are, Hinata telling stories of his day and asking question after question with ease. Oikawa stumbles to keep up, Iwaizumi laughing at his surprise to it all, stealing food from Hinata’s plate and leaning on his arm. Oikawa can’t help but feel at arms length, drinks his glass of wine and takes all the friendship he can get.

“And then Hajime smacked the woman right in the nose with a fish,” Hinata laughs. “He literally hit her, and she was so… nonchalant? Just sighed and took the fish.”

Oikawa snorts, unable to contain his laughter. Iwaizumi punches his shoulder, red with embarrassment at the anecdote. The laughter wears off after a few moments, bubbly charm fading away and leaving a hole in its place. Oikawa panics for a moment, in fear of it being awkward — _is it awkward?_ — before Hinata hums, turning back to Oikawa, as if expecting a retort.

Oikawa wants to say something, but he’s scared— a feeling he isn’t quite familiar with when it comes to social interaction. Every word feels like a grenade with a rusty pin, feels like dynamite lit at both ends, feels like danger and risk despite being so mundane as telling a story.

“O-once I was at— you know how Tokyo has—” Oikawa freezes, his voice cracking out of nervousness. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before starting again.

“Tokyo has these… big markets. Not like ours, because it smells awful and there’s smog everywhere, but the same idea if our market was a thousand times bigger and had vendors from all over. And in my first year there, I went, not knowing anything about how it would work or what it would be like, and a woman threatened to call the police I was so out of place.”

“What?” Iwaizumi interjects, dumbfounded.

“I don’t know!” Oikawa exclaims, and his ears are red and he doesn’t even know if this story is funny at this point. “She must’ve thought I was stealing or was drunk because I kept double checking the prices— they were too high— and trying to haggle them down! And because I’m some big headed teenager with a superiority complex I didn’t realize that’s not a thing in big cities.”

Oikawa watches as the two stare at him blankly before breaking out into laughter, a mix of snickers and hilarity at his sake. Oikawa drops his shoulders, joins in, because oh is it nice to laugh like this again.

After dinner, when the buzz kicks in and Hinata’s lying upside down on the couch, Iwaizumi brings out his guitar and plays a song they all know, and Hinata laughs as he scrambles upright, breaking out into song without a second thought. Oikawa laughs into his glass, watching as Hinata pouts at Iwaizumi’s resistance to join, before turning to him instead.

“C’mon Oikawa,” he says. “Don’t you know the words?”

And Hinata’s sparkling in a way that seems innocent, brighter than the sun as he stares at Oikawa. There’s not a chance in hell that Oikawa can refuse after that, so he opens his mouth and sings on the top of his lungs as Iwaizumi plays away, overdramatic and without inhibitions for once in his life, imagines that all is well between the three of them and uses his hands to gesture with every word, laughing out the lyrics as Hinata sings along. And maybe it’s the wine, or the weather, or the way Oikawa’s heart has been tightening since they started speaking again, but somehow he knows that this is coming back together, that they’re going to be all right. The impending reality of talking about _it_ still looms, but for now Oikawa drinks in the moment and the music, lets go of the desire to be close to Hinata again and falls in love with what they have now.

—

Being a librarian is nice. Oikawa gets to read as much as he pleases, answer phone calls and rearranges things often, and sometimes is offered the chance to speak to people or hold little meetings. It’s a job he enjoys, if not for its major flaw of not having a proper place to eat, meaning he has to find somewhere else to go on lunch break.

Today, he decides to go to the Hinata family bakery on a whim based solely off of the scent of fresh bread that wafts through the town as it bakes. The fall air has begun to chill, late summer heat evaporated leaving chilled winds and coloured leaves in its wake. Oikawa wraps his cardigan closer around him, regretting not bringing a jacket, and blows on his cold hands to keep them warm. He jogs the last little way with haste, eager to get out of the cold and into the warmth of the bakery instead.

The shop area is quite small, consisting of a single room with walls of different pastries and breads on display, a door on the back wall and an open window revealing the actual kitchen area. No one is at the register when he enters, but Oikawa pays no mind, browsing the different baked goods until he finds a milk bread bun to buy.

“Oh, hello Oikawa,” he hears a voice say. Oikawa turns to see Hinata’s mother she setting a plate of fresh turnovers to cool on the sill of the kitchen window, dusting off her hands and entering through the door. “How’ve you been? Haven't seen you since the Iwaizumi’s family dinner.”

“I’ve been fine, thank you,” Oikawa says with a smile.

She hums, walking behind the cash and typing something into the register. “Shouyou told me you two are talking again,” she comments.

Oikawa stiffens, slipping on his mask of a polished smile as he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, we have been for a few months now,” he tells her. He’s not quite sure what to expect when she looks back up at him, an eyebrow raised as she rings up his food.

“That’s good. You were always such good friends,” she says, and it’s dangerously compliant in a way Oikawa can’t understand.

He nods, laughing nervously. “Well, I’m glad we’re friends again. I’m hoping to make up for the fact that I messed up,” he says with a wince.

“You better,” she responds. “After what you did, I’m surprised he only shouted at you the one time. If it were me, I don't know if I would've ever even looked at you again.”

The words hit Oikawa like a slap in the face, but he knows they’re as true as anything else she’s said. “Hinata-san, I intend to make up for what I did in full. It wasn’t right, and I know that—”

“Here you are, talkin’ like a city boy,” she tuts, smirk returning to her lips. “I’m not here to chide you. I’m here to give you a warning that you better make use of this second chance you got, because it’s a miracle you got it in the first place.”

Oikawa blinks in surprise, dropping all surprise from his face. “Y-yes. Of course, ma’am.”

“Keep in mind that if you ever try something like that again, there'll be hell to pay. And no running off this time, you hear?” she warns. Oikawa nods quickly, already feeling fear and intimidation creeping up at the back of his neck at her words. Hinata’s mother in scary calm when she’s angry, kind tone covering up a not-so-subtle threat that lies in her words.

She smiles again. “Good. I’m glad we both understand,” she tells him. “That’ll be three hundred yen, by the way.”

Oikawa bows out of habit and fetches his money from his pocket, handing it to her and meeting her with a slightly shaky smile. A chill runs down his spin at knowing her words to be true— this second chance is a tightrope he’s doomed to walk, one without a net to catch him if he falls. The reminder of the past stays with him, and he knows there’s no ignoring what has happened.

They need to talk about it. Oikawa knows that. Now, he just needs to know when, and how to say it without treading on old wounds that have already healed.

—

The docks are quiet that night.

Oikawa doesn’t know exactly why he decided to leave the comfort and warmth of his bed to sit on the edge of the ocean and watch the water, but doesn't question it as he dips his toes into the icy sea and sighs. It’s low tide, meaning his feet barely even touch the water, and maybe for a good reason. The last thing he needs is hypothermia or for someone to find him taking a late night swim in his clothes.

The real reason for coming out was to clear his mind, to break out of the little routine he’s started making for himself. The cool air makes him shiver in a good way, reminds him he’s got flesh and bone and a body that pumps blood and breathes air like everyone else. Even when he feels the memories tugging at the edges of his mind, even when he remembers the spots where his mother would take him as a child, he’s nothing more than the person he is today.

But it’s not those memories that are forefront in his mind tonight. In fact, he’s not really remembering anything from his childhood at all, nor from his teenage years or back in Tokyo. Instead, his mind is plagued with sunshine smiles and ginger hair, laughter and conversation that comes easier than it has in a long time. Oikawa recalls how Hinata leaned into him that night they all had dinner together, thinks about how their fingertips would meet when he was handing him books. It forces his heart to twist, beat double paced, makes him swell with longing in a way that can’t be safe.

Oikawa is pushing his luck feeling this way, walking the line that was drawn when he left  that hasn't been talked about since.

And it always comes back to that— him leaving, him going, him not speaking up and him ruining it. Even though no one says it, no one dares to bring it up when they're in the same room, it’s present in every conversation, in the way they steer clear of that spring or his parents or what happened after he was gone.

In the distance, a fog horn blares, dull and low as it reverberates off of the water and the cliffs. It’s the only other sound that dares break the silence besides the ocean that laps at Oikawa’s feet, crashing as it breaks. It compliments the ringing in Oikawa’s ears and the pang in his chest, the wanting for someone to be beside him, resting a hand on his thigh and a head on his shoulder. Oikawa allows himself the luxury of imagining pressing a kiss to the top of his head, imagines what it’d be like to love and be loved in return. It’s something he knows he doesn't deserve, something he isn't sure he even knows how to do.

“Fuck,” Oikawa murmurs, holding his face in his hands and smudging his glasses in the process. “You just had to go and fall in love with him, didn't you?”

“Oikawa?” a voice asks, breaking through the nature’s quiet. Oikawa tenses as Iwaizumi moves to sit beside him, concern laced over all of his features. “What’re you doin’ here? It’s four in the morning.”

Oikawa sighs, rubbing his face. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles. There’s a pause that breathes tension into his shoulders, presses the ever looming question of whether Iwaizumi had heard— _of course he heard, he was right there_ — to the forefront of Oikawa’s mind.

“You know,” Iwaizumi says, pulling off his shoes and dipping his feet into the water. “People can love more than one person at once.”

“I know that,” Oikawa snaps, turning his head. “But _my_ love doesn't exist in a vacuum. It doesn't exist without consequence or reaction. What happened is going to affect how he reacts, and it’s going to affect what you do and what I do and it’s never going to be the same.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You earn a master's degree in some physics shit and win all these awards, but you’re still an idiot sometimes,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Nothing is gonna be the same, but that just means that it can be better.”

“And how?” Oikawa asks. “He loves you. He always has, and I can’t get between that. Not for whatever selfish reasons I may hold, not even if I prove I’ve changed. You two deserve each other— you make each other happy in a way I can’t.”

“That isn’t true, Oikawa, Jesus,” Iwaizumi exasperates. “Whatever happened t’you— your parents, Tokyo— it doesn't make you unloveable or unable to love. Don’t you think Shouyou deserves to make his own decisions?”

Oikawa breathes out shakily, shaking his head. “I’m afraid. I’ve always been afraid,” he confesses.

“You’re my best friend, and if you ‘nd Shouyou love each other, then I can accept that,” Iwaizumi tells him. “We fit together, but you have to work things out if this is what you want.”

Oikawa nods silently, feels the water numb his ankles cold. He and Iwaizumi sit beside each other for a few moments more, the feelings between them thick and tangible, tension easing into a train of thought that Oikawa doesn't know how to follow.

“I need to get the boat ready now,” Iwaizumi tells him. “If you want, you can sleep on the couch in the cabin.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa says, pulling himself off of the dock to stand. “For everything.”

Iwaizumi looks him in the eye, cracking a smile and slapping his shoulder. “C’mon, you look dead on your feet.”

Oikawa laughs at that, because despite the pull of his eyelids down to a close, he couldn’t feel more alive. With a smile more sweet than bitter, he steps onto the boat and accepts the offer for sleep, prays that it’ll be without dreams and will bring comfort for the first time in too long.

—

For just one night, Hinata pretends he’s fifteen again. Not literally, but in the sense that he throws away the responsibilities of having a job and anything but sensation and emotion, packs flannel blankets and throws on Iwaizumi’s track pants and approaches him only with the idea of _let’s go for a drive_ like it’s some kind of adventure they could share.

So they do— Iwaizumi packs food and a flashlight and they leave at twilight, take the backroads out of town through the forest and the mountains, stop at the look out points where it looks pretty, picks the last living flowers and stuffs them in the pockets of his borrowed flannel. Iwaizumi holds his hand as he drives, and they hum along to the crackling radio that cuts in and out, playing songs from the seventies and american pop ballads in a weird mix of genres they can’t comprehend.  

Hinata rolls down the window, sticks his head out of the sunroof, letting the autumn air blast through him in a way that chills him to the bone. It’s loud, the wind whipping around him,  but he doesn't mind when it’s louder than every thought he’s trying to avoid, every conclusion he’s trying to escape. He knows he isn’t flying, knows he’ll come down from his false high eventually, but until then he imagines that this is an airplane and he has wings.

When he climbs back into the cab, winded and smiling more from exhaustion that glee, Iwaizumi leans over to place a hand on his thigh, warm and reassuring, like a tether to a world where things make sense.

Eventually, they reach a dead end— a place where they get far enough up the mountain to reach the edge of a farmer’s estate where they can’t pass. Instead of turning back, they throw the blankets in the pickup of the truck, climb in together and lie in each other’s arms, nestling against each other with a kind of softness they never take for granted. Iwaizumi wraps his arms around Hinata’s waist, plays with the hem of his shirt as Hinata fixes the blanket so it wraps around them both.

“Thank you for this,” Hinata says, closing his eyes and timing his breathing to match Iwaizumi’s. “I just needed to get... something off my mind.”

“It’s okay. You know I’d do anything to help,” Iwaizumi tells him. “And you know you can talk about it, right? About him?”

Hinata turns slightly, frowning. “How’d you know it was a person?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I figured Oikawa is the most confusing thing you’re facing right now,” he says. “Am I right?”

Hinata sighs, leaning back into his arms. “Yeah, you are,” he says. “I just… want to be close to him. Like how we used to be. I keep being reminded of what it was like before everything happened.”

Neither speak for a few moments, the wind blowing cold around them being the only sound besides their breathing. Iwaizumi’s hand, which until then had been drawing lazy circles through his clothes, stills.

“Can I tell you something, Shouyou?” Iwaizumi asks softly.

“If it’s to tell me I need to talk to him, then I know,” Hinata replies, equally as soft.

“No, it’s something different,” Iwaizumi says. “Oikawa… he’s in love with you.”

Hinata stiffens, his heart dropping into his stomach. It doesn't feel like a shock as much as it feels like acceptance, like realizing the water’s gotten too hot to handle and feeling the burn against your shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Hinata whispers. “I don’t… aren’t you upset?”

“No, because he’s my best friend and I know he won’t act on it unless you’re okay with it,” Iwaizumi says. “I just want you to be happy, and I think this is something you have to know before you two speak about everything.”

Hinata nods, swallowing thickly. “I think a part of me has always known, but to think it and hear it out loud are two different things,” he says. “All I really know is we need to talk sometime soon.”

Iwaizumi kisses the top of Hinata’s head, pulling him closer. “I’m always gonna be there for you,” he promises him. “I love you, and it’s all going to work out.”

“Thank you,” Hinata whispers into Iwaizumi’s chest. “I love you too.”

And in the back of a pickup truck, with autumn winds blowing strong and feelings growing stronger, Hinata falls asleep in Iwaizumi’s arms, with a heart heavy enough that it sinks into his stomach and a mind lighter that the leaves that fly through the air.

—

**_Winter, 2011_ **

 

With each new year rising and old ones falling, the small town breathes tradition and festivity into every nook and cranny as the new year begins. The town is lively with celebration— children running with sparklers lit in hands, parents drinking inside each other’s homes, doors open for all to enter. The Iwaizumi’s household is by far the busiest, bustling with people talking loud and brash as they play cards and share stories. For most of the time, Hinata stayed close to Iwaizumi’s side, sneaking a midnight kiss, indulging in listening to the chatter rather than joining in. Oikawa stands at the side, watching it all unfold and trying to avoid the wrath of Iwaizumi’s aunties.

Slipping outside, he shrugs on his jacket, embracing the fresh air with a sigh. The sky is clear of any cloud, opening up to show an ocean of velvety black only flecked by stars, a void of darkness accentuated by the brightness of dying stars millions of lightyears away. Oikawa had missed that— being able to look up and see the stars. In Tokyo, he never was so lucky. The one thing he only missed more was Hinata Shouyou, but he supposes it doesn't count, because everything goes back to Hinata Shouyou.

It’d be a good time as any to talk about things now, when the world is turning a new leaf and tensions have been lifted for a night. Oikawa leans on the wooden fence of Iwaizumi’s childhood yard, watches a trio of bright eyed children run down the street pointing to the amateur fireworks sparkling in the distance. It seems so long ago he was able to move with that careless glee, that he was able to smile without plasticity or false emotion. In the depths of his chest, he longs for human contact like that again, longs to pour out his feelings and spill what's left inside.

“Needed fresh air?” a voice rings from behind him. Oikawa relaxes his shoulders as the object of all of his troubles and affections moves to stand beside him, looking up at him with rosé cheeks and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Yeah, the aunties were hounding on me,” Oikawa says as explanation.

Hinata laughs airily, so unlike how he usually does. “You too?” he asks. “Maybe we should walk, get away long enough for them to find their new prey.”

Oikawa’s stomach twists into a knot he isn't sure can come undone and nods, accepting Hinata’s offer. Together, they walk down the roads, asphalt cracked and ridden with holes they both know better than to trip on. Alongside them, the moon glows, casting light down from the heavens onto them as they twist through the familiar streets that were never theirs in effort to find breathing room despite lungs being strangled by thoughts and what-ifs.

It’s the universe’s perfect opportunity to speak— they're alone on a long road that’ll loop without end, on a day where everything is starting anew. And yet Oikawa couldn’t feel less like he’s drowning, couldn’t feel less anxiety broiling deep inside of his bloodstream at the prospect of saying a single word. Hinata must feel much the same way, for he drags his feet on the pavement and keeps his eyes fixed downwards and away from him.

Oikawa stops walking for a moment, sighing and looking around at where they stand. Hinata hums as they rest, idly, unaware of how Oikawa has frozen at the sight of the house in front of them.

It looks a lot different. The new owner fixed the front yard and added a swing to the old birch tree, but it’s the same house with its flat roof that Oikawa and Hinata once stargazed on, and it’s the same house Oikawa grew up and out of, the same house where he’d tiptoe around the kitchen in an intricate dance of not knowing when to stop or when to start. As if to be cruel, it’s painfully silent, not a chime in the air. Oikawa grimaces bitterly, looking up at the stars and sighing.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he comments, noticing the zigzag constellation across the sky. “Cassiopeia.”

It’s Hinata’s turn to freeze solid beside him, eyes widening and mouth contorting into something painful. Oikawa’s face falls, and he turns to him, extending a hand in a silent plea of _what’s wrong? Are you alright?_ that goes unspoken through the concern in his eyes.

“I— I need to go,” Hinata chokes out. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” Oikawa calls, but it’s too late. Hinata turns on a dime and bolts, stumbling over the roots that break the asphalt and the potholes he’s forgotten to jump over. He’s always been a fast sprinter, and Oikawa’s heart aches more than his knees as he tries to keep up, losing him around a bend and a corner and ending up back at the Iwaizumi family home.

He heaves unsteady breaths, bending over with hands on his knees as he waits in the driveway, shaking his head, unsure of what to do. A mantra repeats in his head, _you messed up, you messed up_ , repeated like broken records or an obsessive loop of actions done in a vain attempt at clarity.

“Oikawa?” he hears Iwaizumi say. He must’ve come out from inside when he saw him hunched over in his front lawn like a lunatic, but Oikawa’s composure has long since worn thin for people repeating his name.

“What?” he snaps, and it comes off more desperate than bitter, more broken than brash, and he can see the way Iwaizumi can recognize the hurt in how his eyes flash from surprise to fear.

“Where’d Shouyou—”

“He ran off,” Oikawa says, voice quiet, cracking. “We weren’t talking, just walking, and I mentioned the stars— Cassiopeia— and he just _left_. I don’t know why, I can’t—”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, placing hands, strong, grounding onto his shoulders. “Go to him. He needs you.”

Oikawa looks up, eyes glassy, unbelieving. Iwaizumi has that kind of loyalty look of confidence that makes him an anchor at sea, warm and steadying admit the storm around them.

Spoken: permission. Unspoken: _I trust you_.

“Thank you,” Oikawa breathes, and it’s all he says before taking off down the streets, following the path to a place his instincts are telling him to find. It may be fate or luck or design, but something pulls him to the little cove only seen at low tide, where he finds Hinata’s shoes discarded in the sand and him in all his glory, sitting with his head between his knees on a rock by the sea.  

Hinata hears him, and turns around to look his way, tear tracks glistening down his cheeks as he stares with a look of small shock painted across his face.

“Oh,” he says, and the words pierce through the sounds of the waves. “You came.”

Oikawa toes off his shoes, his toes sinking into the wet sand. “Of course I came. Why wouldn't I?” Taking a few more steps forward, he sits down next to Hinata as the other turns his head, looking back out onto the horizon.

Barely louder than a whisper in the wind, Hinata speaks. "What else am I supposed to expect?” he says. His tone holds no bitterness to it, only the exhaustion of years beyond his age. Oikawa isn’t sure if he was meant to hear it in the first place.

It’s a needle that shatters the glass cage around his heart, sends shards to prick his muscle and skin and leave him breathless and bleeding because this is what he was trying to prevent, the last thing he ever wanted for him. And it tears him apart, the silence of Hinata’s tears and the bittersweet tension that rises, because in the end, he was the one to cause it all.

“Can we talk about it?” Oikawa finally asks, and it feels like eating lemons and drinking tequila spiked with cyanide. “I think we should talk about this.”

Hinata tilts his head, looking up at him for a moment before nodding and looking back down at the drop from the rock to the water. “Why’d you leave me?” he asks. Abrupt, terse, no beating around the edges.

Oikawa gulps. He feels like a fish drowning in air. “I was... unhappy. Stagnant. I couldn’t move without wanting to... to not exist,” he says slowly, cautiously. Every word is calculated, precise, placed in a way that he prays won’t come off as an excuse.

“No,” Hinata clarifies. “Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?”

The waves push forwards, Oikawa pulls back.

“I didn't want to become like my parents,” Oikawa tells him, a shaken, broken whisper falling and crumbling like a fall leaf. It’s the first time he’s spoken the fear aloud. “Hating life, hating where they were. I didn’t want to… fall into their lifestyle of drinking and bitterness.”

“You were scared.”

“No, I was a _coward_ ,” Oikawa says. “I convinced myself that I didn't mean anything to you so that I had an excuse to never come back, to never look back.”

“But you did. You came back,” Hinata says. It breaks like the waves, trickles between them and brushes against skin— icy, cold truth. Oikawa wonders what to say next, struggles to find something to bridge the gap that stands centimetres between them. “Why?”

Oikawa freezes. He never expected the question, but he inhales and answers before Hinata can move on.

“It gets overwhelming when a million people don’t look your way, and all your friends are envious of what you have,” Oikawa says. His voice shakes, shivering in the cold winter wind. “Toxicity. I couldn’t live in a place where I couldn’t love anyone.”

He winces at his own choice of words. Hinata doesn't say anything, and the night sky twinkles above them, cool air giving way to cooler darkness that wraps around them.

“Were you okay afterwards?” Oikawa asks, slowly, cautiously, as if Hinata were a fawn ready to bolt at any moment.

Hinata bristles. “No. Of course I wasn’t.” He laughs, bitter and hollow. “I almost failed second year because of it.”

Oikawa stays silent. Being at loss for words seems to be a common theme that night.

“But of course,” Hinata continues, picking at the rock. “I got better. It took a few years, but I learned to stop seeing you in cherry blossoms and old books and the stars. Not without…” He trails off, and Oikawa waits. “Not without thinking I couldn’t be loved. Without thinking I’ll never have a pair of arms to call home.”

Oikawa’s breath clouds out in front of his face, wavering with the pain of Hinata’s words. He can feel a knot begin to tie in his throat, can feel the salt water pricking at his eyes as they ocean pulls back, leaving no room to hide as they pour.

“I’m so sorry,” Oikawa whispers, and it’s the truth, slipping out in words for the first time since he returned. “I regret it every single day.”

“I know,” Hinata tells him. “You love me.”

Oikawa feels like choking. “You should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

And those words, those two simple words, puncture Oikawa’s skin and leak relief through his body. Oikawa bites so hard on his lip he tastes iron, and exhales air he never noticed himself holding.

“I promise, I won’t- I won’t leave ever again. I want to make this better, to make things right. I never want to hurt you again,” Oikawa tells him, finally looking his way. He’s met with Hinata looking up at him, tiredness evident in the droop of his eyes and the sad smile on his lips.

“How do I know that’s true? How do I know you won't leave again? How can I trust you?” he says, voice lowering in volume.

It’s then that Oikawa realizes how close they’ve gotten, how Hinata’s thigh presses against his own. It’s dizzying, this closeness in emotions and hearts and bodies, and Oikawa feels intimacy he hasn’t felt in ages just by the way Hinata looks at him.

“Slowly,” Oikawa whispers, eyes slowly becoming lidded as he watches the way Hinata leans towards him. “You can trust me slowly. That’s all I ask.”

“Can you prove it?” Hinata asks, flicking his eyes up to meet Oikawa’s, then down to his lips and up again.

“I…” Oikawa hesitates, because he can feel Hinata’s breath on his lips, so close to his own. It'd be so easy to lean in, to press them together and feel—

And suddenly, he is, because Hinata has leaned in and done it for him. Lips press softly against his own, and Oikawa’s mind has gone blank save the sensation of Hinata’s mouth moving slowly, warmly. It’s like tasting heaven on his tongue, like sugar and metal, like lips chapped from biting and cherry balm. Oikawa feels lost as Hinata kisses him, his own lips pliant as he moves with the flow of his touch.

“Tooru,” Hinata says, pulling away less than an inch to speak. “You can kiss me back.”

And it’s all the confirmation Oikawa needs to nod, allowing himself to be pulled back in by Hinata. The tide rises steady around them, but neither notice, Oikawa moving with caution as Hinata parts his lips, a tongue brushing against his teeth. Slowly, as if he were a kid without experience or idea of what to do, Oikawa rests his hands on Hinata’s waist, feeling the smaller’s hands move to tangle in his hair as his lips move languidly against his own. Testing, unsure, like he’s opening him up and learning the inside of his mouth.

Hinata’s fingers grip little tighter in his hair, moves his mouth a little more forcefully against his lips. The ocean pushes forwards and Oikawa takes the chance, drags Hinata’s bottom lip between his teeth, runs his hands up and down Hinata’s side and keens at the sound of him humming against his lips.

Hinata moves his hands so that they cradle either side of Oikawa’s jaw, leaning over to press their chests together as he moves, not breaking the kiss as he slings a leg over Oikawa’s thighs, repositioning himself so that he sits in Oikawa’s lap. Oikawa freezes in a moment of surprise for a few seconds before easing back into Hinata’s touch, reveling in how his tongue presses against his, how his hands continue playing in his hair.

It’s the ocean that finally forces them to pull apart, it’s waves creeping up close enough to wet their pants and chill them in all the wrong ways. Hinata yelps at the cold, latching onto Oikawa a little tighter before turning to look back at him, eyes blown and hair a mess.

“What happened to going slow?” Oikawa asks breathlessly, still staring at Hinata’s swollen lips.

“When have you ever gone slow?” Hinata responds, and it’s gentle and teasing all at the same time. Oikawa reaches forward on impulse, brushing a strand of hair behind Hinata’s ear. Hinata rests his head against his hand, closing his eyes and humming softly, forcing Oikawa’s heart to contort in incredible fondness and veneration. Despite the frigid water that creeps in, Oikawa’s cheeks couldn’t be hotter.

When Hinata’s lips press against his again, Oikawa doesn’t fight it, cradling Hinata’s cheek and focusing only on how his lips move, passionate and warm against him. He screws his eyes shut, praying the tears in his eyes don’t fall. Everything blurs except for the boy in his arms, except for the all encompassing buzz that drifts from his mind to his chest, calling out to the boy with ginger hair.

He’s here, with Hinata, and despite everything that they’ve been through, they’re going to work it out, they’re going to be together. The moon’s glow flickers over the water as Oikawa draws Hinata in close, tentative and careful in the press of his hand to the small of his back. Hinata breathes him in, head resting on his chest with a hum from his throat.

“It’s gotten colder,” Hinata whispers, breaking away. “Let’s go home.”

And Oikawa, with his double paced heartbeat and disbelief coursing through his system, nods, presses his nose into Hinata’s hair and smells pine and berry shampoo, feels the closest thing to a home he’s ever known pressed against him.

It’s not a long walk, but together, carrying their shoes and dirtying their socks, they make the trek back, shivering from the cold and leaning onto each other more than they’d care to admit. Halfway through, Hinata reaches out, brushes the back of their hands together and grabs Oikawa’s so that their fingers intertwine. It makes Oikawa’s heart stop, makes his head spin, but he doesn’t say anything, takes it as a little victory and squeezes in thanks.

When they walk back to the Iwaizumi family home, they’ve drawn close out of necessity for body heat, Hinata’s head propped on his arm. The lights from inside the home glow brighter than the stars, a waypoint in inky black skies to open arms and laughter. On the front porch, leaning onto the railing, stands Iwaizumi, chin propped in hand and brow furrowed in worry. It isn’t until he spots them that he softens and smiles, straightening his back and relaxing his shoulders.

 _It’s okay,_ Oikawa thinks, bridging the gap. _We’re okay._

—

It’s windy, and Hinata’s sleeping at five pm, passed out in their bed, dead to the world. Brassy toned hair shines in the low light of the room, laying flat against the pillow and in forehead, framing the softened curves of his cheeks like a picture frame. Iwaizumi hears the rap of knuckles on the front door and winces, fearful that Hinata will stir. He doesn’t, and a sigh escapes Iwaizumi involuntarily in relief as he moves to get the door.

Oikawa waits on the other side, hands shoved into the pockets of a University Of Tokyo hoodie. He’s got his glasses on and his hair untamed, like he just rolled out of bed or didn't care to look in the mirror. It’s an odd look for him, this not caring, but it seems a little less depressed and a little more carefree in the crinkle of his eyes as he smiles— genuine.

“Shouyou is asleep,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice low. “We can sit outside, if you want.”

Oikawa nods in agreement, following Iwaizumi through the house and out the back door, Bok Choy trotting at their heels. The two friends stop near the edge of the cliff, taking a seat on the thin layer of soil that covers the rock underneath. It’s far from comfortable, but the air is crisp and refreshing enough that breathing isn't a challenge, and Iwaizumi knows by the look in Oikawa’s eyes he has something to say.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Oikawa tells him, looking out onto the ocean.

“You won’t,” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa looks his way, face quizzical and confused. “You won’t because you know what will happen if you do. You know what you’ll lose,” he clarifies.

“It’s not that easy,” Oikawa snaps. “I can’t just erase all that I’ve done, all that I am. I’m gonna mess it up, I always do.”

A wave breaks, echoing off of the ocean. Iwaizumi groans.

“You’re being melodramatic. You aren’t erasing anything, and for god's sake, you are more than what you did six years ago,” Iwaizumi says. “Isn’t that the whole point of this? Of coming back?”

Oikawa falls silent. It’s hard to come back with any kind or retort or argument, a tell tale sign that what Iwaizumi is saying is true. He rubs his eyes, sighing and shivering in the cool air.

“You’re not half as awful as you tell yourself you are,” Iwaizumi says to Oikawa.

Oikawa is surprised at that, blinks twice before his mouth stretches into a smile. It’s comforting, at least, to hear that. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He thinks back to when he was in Tokyo, scraping by in his shitty apartment, talking to people out of necessity and reaching to make ends meet. He worked, and worked hard, has the awards and notability to show for it, but he would be lying if he said he spent his time in without feeling like he was going to crumble.

But now, he sits on the edge of a cliff in a town he grew up in, beside the childhood home of the boy he loves. And god, does he love Hinata— love the smiles and the frowns and the laughter, love the excitement and the calm attitude that washes over with him when the situation calls. Oikawa loves the way he talks, quick paced and enthused, loves his curiosity and his gentle hands, loves the way he captivates everyone in the room without even knowing. And it’s then, seven years later sitting on a cliff close enough to fall that Oikawa realizes he spent all this time looking for the very thing he had all along.

“How’d we get so lucky?” he sighs, shaking his head.

It’s rhetorical, but Iwaizumi answers. “No idea,” he tells him. Maybe he understands what Oikawa was thinking in that moment, puts together the pieces of how much he missed this town in the time he spent trying to forget it. Oikawa laughs at his answer, real, fresh. Distantly, Iwaizumi realizes it looks nice on him. Much better than the bitter melancholy he was sporting earlier. The wind slows to a steady hiss, and the waves crash. Nothing changes. Everything is different still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME NOTES!!!  
> \+ the experiment that oikawa is a apart of i based off of the neutrino studies done at the sno lab!! i call artistic liberaty in bending this so that this research was in done japan rather than canada, but if youd like to know more about the actual science behind it visit this website: https://www.snolab.ca/
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and as always comments nd kudos mean so much!!!


	6. chapter five: nebula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya guys its mooks here. i honestly cant believe this is the final chapter?? this fic was such a wild ride for both me and kj. it really means so much to us, and every comment and kudos has also meant so much to us. thank you everyone who has supported this fic.
> 
> this fic honestly started off as something simple, and evolved more and more the more we talked about it. on that note, the rating has to go up for a scene in this chapter. 
> 
> and as always, written by the wonderful and talented kj and beta'd by me, mooks!

**_Winter, 2011_ **

 

It’s the little things at first.

Hinata still wakes up early and waits at the docks for Iwaizumi to come back in, who had woken up even earlier, but now he does so with Oikawa beside him, arms filled with baked breakfast goods or books or a story of a dream he had the night before. Everything feels new, feels fast, feels like falling into place of something they both aren't sure how to go about. Their eyes meet, their hands brush. Neither move away.

Sometimes, if Hinata’s feeling confident, he’ll press a kiss to Oikawa’s cheeks, his lips. He’s much more lax about public displays of affection than Iwaizumi is, more comfortable when he’s clinging to Hinata in some way. It’s flustering, the attention from the both of them— Iwaizumi docks the boats and hoists out the crab cages, presses a kiss to Hinata’s cheek just moments after Oikawa had— but he loves it. It’s new and it’s brilliant and it makes him smile from ear to ear.

Not to say he isn’t hesitant. There are moments when they stammer like teenagers blushing, turning around to realize how close their faces have become. Iwaizumi always rolls his eyes when he watches— with fondness, of course— and Oikawa always asks _can I?_ before pressing a kiss to Hinata’s lips.

And so Oikawa becomes a part of the routine, walks with Hinata to school and comes over for dinner. They have reading dates at the library, more louder conversations and quieter silences. It’s scary, how quickly they fall back into each other’s wavelengths. Sometimes, it feels like he never left.

One day, another teacher approaches him with the idea of bringing their classes to the library. She’s teaching fifth years— one of which is Hinata’s younger sister— who would be able to buddy up with Hinata’s kindergarten students on the walk into town. Hinata is more than happy to go, though he tries to convince himself it isn't entirely for selfish reasons. The kids love the library books, love being read to and asking questions even more. It’s completely selfish, in all honesty. Hinata wants to see Oikawa talk with the students again, wants to teach little lessons with him watching. With a head held high and not a worry in his mind that his plan could be upset, Hinata marches his class down to the library, his little sister more than happy to help lead the way.

“Natsu, stay in line!” he calls. Natsu doesn't really listen. She sticks out her tongue and skips down the hill instead, and Hinata has to stop three younger students from trying to copy her.

The library itself isn’t very busy when they come in, which is good on behalf of their class. The students quickly shuffle in, thirty some kids breaking off into groups as Hinata tries his best to lead them to the group reading area. Oikawa soon comes in with an armful of books and a blinding smile, his glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose as he walks into the room, winking towards Hinata. It’s that that distracts him from the other, _younger_ Hinata Natsu, who just so happens to have her feet sticking straight out— a perfect tripping hazard that sends the books tumbling from Oikawa’s arms.

“Natsu!” Hinata hisses. “Keep your feet out of the aisle.”

Natsu scowls, rolling her eyes. Oikawa lets out a small chuckle before taking his place in the center of the reading circle to explain the rules and places to find books to the students. Once finished, the older students leave to roam the library on their own, while Hinata’s class stays with him to read together. It’s something he likes to do, taking his time making up voices for every character, holding the book so everyone can get a look at the pictures. It reminds him of something— Aprils spent reading literature aloud instead of in his head, passing language arts by the skin of his teeth thanks to a certain someone with a knack for words.

It’s a little after Hinata finishes the first book that that certain someone offers to switch out with him for reading, a small, pleading look in his eyes.

“It’s Natsu…” Oikawa pouts. “I don’t think she likes me.”

Hinata has to try really, really hard not to laugh. “Oh?” he asks, only the slightest bit upset at his sister’s bullying of his boyfriend— _boyfriend_. The word still makes his stomach flutter.

“I’m serious!” Oikawa whines. “She knocked over all of the books I was putting away and said I looked like crap.”

Hinata frowns. “That’s unlike her. You look very nice, by the way.”

They both blush, turning away for a moment before Hinata clears his throat. “I’ll talk to her. Do you know where she is?”

“By the fantasy section,” Oikawa tells him. “Thank you.”

Hinata smiles, straining on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Oikawa’s cheek. He leaves with a wave before going to navigate the library to find his sister. When he does, it’s to see her sitting with her nose in a book, eyes wide as she mouths the words.

“Natsu,” Hinata says, placing his hands on his hips. “Why’d you say Tooru looks like crap?”

Natsu looks up at her brother, slamming her book closed. “You’re first naming him?” she says with a wrinkle of her nose. “He’s a _snake_.”

“Natsu!” Hinata hisses.

“It’s true!” she whisper shouts in response. “He was a meanie to you before. Why should I trust him?”

Hinata sighs. “Natsu, how much do you even remember about Tooru?”

Natsu pauses, contemplating her choice of words. “I remember how sad you were after he left. And how upset you were when he came back.”

Hinata moves to sit down next to Natsu. “People can change, Natsu,” he tells her. “If we held them to grudges that happened years ago, no one would be allowed to grow. I’ve learned to accept that, and I know you can too.”

Natsu stays quiet, still pursing her lips and refusing to look Hinata in the eye. He bites the inside of his cheek, deciding on an ultimatum.

“Listen, you don’t need to like him as long as you aren't being rude to him,” Hinata says. “You think you can do that?”

It’s a few long, sullen seconds before Natsu mutters _fine_ , attempting to stand up, but not before Hinata could reach over and ruffle up her hair. She shrieks, earning them both shushes from nearby library patrons and Hinata a scowl before she announces that she’ll be heading back to class.

It’s with a sigh of relief that Hinata watches her go, leaning back to thunk his head against the bookshelf. He never really considered how Natsu would remember Oikawa, or his relationship with him. Despite all her stubbornness, she was smart, and he knew that she’d tone down her jesting. With a smile, Hinata picks up her discarded book from the ground, and heads back to his class, blowing Oikawa a kiss on the way out.

—

The ocean is noisy from Hinata and Iwaizumi’s bedroom. Oikawa likes the ambiance of it as they lay, his head on Hinata’s stomach, Hinata lying on Iwaizumi’s chest. Oikawa’s toes creep off the edge of the bed, colder than he’d like, but the warmth that radiates from Hinata is enough to take his mind off it, especially with the way his hands run through his hair. Oikawa hums in content, closing his eyes and curling into his touch. Little winter birds sing outside of the window, and Iwaizumi whistles along to their calls, making Hinata giggle and Oikawa’s heart clench, because even with his eyes closed Hinata is beautiful.

Hinata moves on to making little braids in Oikawa’s hair, and Oikawa shifts so that he’s staring at the ceiling, tracing his fingers lazily over Hinata’s thighs. The action is so slow, so languid, something Oikawa relishes in but isn't used to. The difference is stark between how he spends his time here versus how he did in Tokyo, and there’s no secret as to which he likes more, not when he’s so close to Hinata and so content with staying still.

 It’s when Hinata starts squirming slightly that Oikawa sits up and turns around, watching as Iwaizumi nuzzles his face into the crook of Hinata’s neck. Hinata smiles, bright and soft, his legs shifting out of ticklish knee jerk reactions before he settles into Iwaizumi’s touch, leaning his head back so that he can twist around and kiss him. Oikawa blushes, stomach stirring before he realizes that he’s a part of this too, that he could easily lean forward and press his lips to Hinata’s. When Hinata and Iwaizumi break apart, Oikawa leans a bit closer, still so cautious in his every move, reaching out to stroke Hinata’s cheek.

“Can I?” he asks. Hinata nods, eyes already fluttering shut as he presses back against Iwaizumi, sitting in his lap but leaning forward to cup Oikawa’s jaw and pull him closer.

Oikawa is practically pulled onto Hinata’s lap, but he hovers in fear of crushing him, licking his lower lip as he moves closer. His movements are natural, but methodical, thought out and carefully planned. Every tug of his lips, each slow movement of his mouth calculated. Iwaizumi’s arms wrap around Hinata’s waist, and Oikawa can feel himself spiraling into the sensation of moving warmly against Hinata, of slipping his hands in his hair and breaking the kiss to move along his jaw.

There’s no reason to go fast, so Oikawa makes every movement deliberate, leaving little red marks down Hinata’s throat before finding a spot he thinks he’ll like, sucking marks on his jawline before moving back to kiss him again. Hinata sighs when their lips meet, slips his tongue against Oikawa’s and hums lowly before pulling away and yelping.

“Hajime!” he shrieks. “That tickles! I’m trying to kiss Tooru and you’re tickling me!”

Iwaizumi shrugs, hands still running up and down Hinata’s sides. “No idea what you’re talking about,” Iwaizumi lies, smirking only slightly when Hinata laughs again.

Tentatively, Oikawa leans forwards, dancing his fingers under Hinata’s armpits. Hinata gasps, lurching forwards with another shout of laughter.

“Oh my god, not you too,” he whines, thrashing slightly with a grin wide across his face, twisting out of both his and Iwaizumi reach before flopping against the bed, panting. “I’m _tired_ ; hold me to make up for that.”

Hinata becomes wedged between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, letting Oikawa rest his head on his collarbone while using Iwaizumi’s arm as a pillow. It takes a little bit of moving around and adjusting until they’re all comfortable, but when they are, it’s worth it. Breathing and heartbeats blend, and Oikawa feels joy prick inside of him, feels comfort bloom in all of their surroundings.

—

Iwaizumi gets the idea when he’s selling the day’s catch at the market. It’s tuna he’s selling, and the buyer is none other than the closest thing to a fine restaurant’s owner. Iwaizumi’s never been— it’s pricey but small, with mood lighting and romantic fare, exactly the sort of place where you’d go for a date.

And thus, the idea becomes a question, becomes _we should go out together,_ becomes both he and Oikawa buying Hinata a bouquet of flowers (him sunflowers, Oikawa red roses). It becomes dressing up in their good clothes (Oikawa’s by far the finest) and walking down to the little restaurant tucked away on the corner of the market.

The inside is warm, with soft jazz music playing, lively chatter at the bar and people milling about at the few tables. It’s small inside, with their spot being reserved in the corner table, and Hinata needs an extra chair to rest his flowers on. Iwaizumi smiles at that— at how he flushes at the added attention of Oikawa, at how they play footsie under the table even after ordering wine.

“This is so nice,” Hinata sighs, smiling as he leans back in his chair.

“It’s intimate,” Oikawa muses. “Romantic. Red is a nice colour on you, by the way.”

Hinata blushes, looking down at his red tie. “Ah, you think?”

“You look nice in anything,” Iwaizumi tells him. His own cheesiness disgusts him, but it makes Hinata’s eyes light up as he takes a sip of his water and looks down at the menu, grabbing his hand from under the table.

The music hums in the background, and Oikawa drums his fingers to the tune to the song. He’s got his eyes locked on Hinata in a daze, chin resting on palm, dreamily staring at his smile like a lovesick caricature of a schoolboy. Iwaizumi can’t blame him— the glow of the restaurant highlights everything about him, from the shimmer of his cheeks to the shadows along his neck. Oikawa’s googly eyes make all of the sense in the world when heaven is sat right in front of them.

“You’re staring,” Iwaizumi whispers to Oikawa, because it’s likely he has some dignity to spare.

Oikawa shrugs, tearing his eyes away from Hinata for half a second to look at Iwaizumi. “Maybe, but so are you.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, because he’s right, but why wouldn't he be?

The waiter comes by and takes their order, and Hinata excitedly chooses an array of wildly different things and trades the menu for the champagne they ordered earlier, pouring it into three delicate chutes and leaving without a trace. A toast and three clinks later, Hinata leans back and sighs, eyes twinkling like the chandelier and casting light across the room.

“I’ve never been somewhere like this before,” he says, wonder in every syllable. “They must’ve had so many places like this in Tokyo.”

Iwaizumi expects tension, but Oikawa simply shrugs. “Only ever went to places this fancy for banquets and such. I was living off the bare minimum of my scholarship until I started at the research labs, and even then I didn’t have the time nor friends to go out,” Oikawa says. “This is a million times better than any of those banquets, though.”

Hinata furrows his brow. “Why?”

“You’re here.”

Iwaizumi smiles in its truth. Never in his life did he think he’d be here, so enraptured with a single person’s smile laugh and life source, so wrapped around his finger and drawn in by his every word. Hinata blushes and stutters before falling silent, taking another sip of his champagne. Iwaizumi follows in suit, admires how Hinata’s cheeks dust rosé and how the buzz from the alcohol in his system makes everything seem muted, seem blurred with tones of broke and amber and gold. Luminescence shines through every laugh, every brush of fingers, every squeeze of Hinata’s hand from where they hold them under the table.

And it’s then that it occurs to Iwaizumi how much he loves where he is, how grateful he is that everything managed to work out. The world moves so quick outside of this small town, and nature rarely cares to make the lives of ordinary people turn out, so he takes the good without granted and treasures every moment spent in love with the boy with the sun in his smile.

—

**_Spring, 2011_ **

 

Winter thaws into March, bleeds rain and budding trees across the town. With it, Iwaizumi’s fishing trips become more frequent, and another year of teaching dwindles to an end. Everything seems to breathe a little easier, even the ocean— waves becoming less of a tidal force crashing and more of a steady ebb. Oikawa watches things grow, from the crocus in the front yard to the smiles on Hinata’s face to the collection of polaroids that Iwaizumi keeps. Snapshot memories become mementos of blurry laughter and stolen kisses, messy bed hair and candid stares.

It’s been a year since he arrived back in town, a year since he left Tokyo and returned to where he grew up. He was never one for celebrating anniversaries, but something feels special about this one. Everything feels subdued, feels a little less intense. Time doesn't feel as if it’s slipping through his fingers like smoke, and his shoulders no longer feel tense with the weight of regret held on them.

So here he lays, in the twilight hour, in a home atop a cliff with clean sheets pulled around him, Hinata Shouyou resting beside him. Even now his heart beats double time, speeds up when Hinata looks his way. Iwaizumi lays on the other side of Hinata, humming a song under his breath as the wind settles outside.

“It’s weird,” Oikawa says aloud, to no one in particular. “Usually I’d be obsessing over spending a year in the same place, or overthinking how much I’ve done, feeling stagnant or _something_ , but I’m not.” Hinata lifts his head from his chest, looking him in the eye. “Honestly, it’s the lightest I’ve felt in a long time. I’m… _happy_.”

Hinata blinks, surprised by Oikawa’s comment. He traces his hands over his arm, but it’s Iwaizumi who speaks next.

“I think it’s because you’re living for yourself now,” Iwaizumi comments. “In high school, you never were. You were trying to find some kind of purpose, trying to prove your parents wrong or meet their expectations all while reaching your own. Not to mention that… hatred of feeling like you didn't have control.”

Hinata sits up a bit more. “You make Tooru sound like a control freak.”

Oikawa shrugs. “I kind of am. I spent so much of my life at the will of my parents, I didn't know what life was like when I wasn't under their roof.”

“It’s why Shouyou and I never left,” Iwaizumi adds. “Our families gave us breathing room, let us exist how we wanted to. You never had that luxury.”

Oikawa nods. Iwaizumi is more observant than he tends to let on, and it’s proven when he says things like that. Beside him, Hinata chews on his lip, debating what to say.

“It makes sense, then,” Hinata says. “Doesn’t justify what you did, but you can only take so long of that before you burst.”

Oikawa is taken aback, Hinata’s statement not being what he expected. It makes his chest twist and tighten, makes his heart soften the intensity of his pulse that drums in his ears.

“I was so stupid,” he says, shaking his head. “Leaving without saying goodbye, cutting off contact with Iwa-chan for a year—”

“You two stopped talking?” Hinata asks, surprised.

Iwaizumi nods. “For close to two years, actually. Eventually he cracked, and I answered the call,” he explains. “That was my mistake— giving up.”

Hinata’s mouth falls into an _oh_ , and he looks between his two boyfriends with a look of astonishment. “And yet we’re here. Together, in love,” he says in wonder. “I’m so lucky.”

And that surprises Oikawa, because he’s always thought of himself as the lucky one. Hinata’s hand still rests on his shoulder, rubbing little circles onto his skin through his shirt as he smiles, so wistful and bright.

“I love you two,” he says. “I can’t imagine living without either of you.” He turns his body so that he’s facing Oikawa dead in the eye, both his arms draped over his shoulders. “Tooru,” he whispers. “I can’t— I don’t know how to say how grateful I am that you came back. I stopped dreaming about it years ago, but now I just… can’t imagine what it’d be like without you.”

Oikawa blinks away the emotion that ties in his throat, stammers in lack of response as Hinata swings a leg over his body, moving to straddle his waist. Oikawa backs up so that he sits against the headboard, his head cushioned from smacking against it when Hinata rests his hand against it and brings their lips together.

The kiss is a bit dizzying, a bit overwhelming, a lot more heated and a lot less softer than Oikawa was expecting. Hinata’s fingers thread through his hair, pulling and tugging as he bites Oikawa’s lip. Oikawa moans in surprise, finally closing his eyes and giving into Hinata’s onslaught of kisses, tongue slipping inside of his mouth as he breathes him in. Oikawa doesn't know where to put his hands, settling on resting one on Hinata’s shoulder and another on his hip. Hinata breaks the kiss, both of them panting. He doesn't stop, moving to kiss down Oikawa’s jaw, mouthing slowly at where it meets his neck and biting down.

“H-ha,” Oikawa stammers. “What’s with this?”

“Wanna be close to you,” Hinata mumbles in the crook of his neck. He leans back, pulling his shirt over his head. Iwaizumi moves from his side, kissing his bare shoulder as Oikawa feels his face heat up at the sight of Hinata’s bare chest. He licks his lips, hands hovering, hesitant with no idea where to touch.

“I— I have no idea what I’m doing,” Oikawa confesses. He can feel how hot his face is, looking up at Hinata’s swollen red lips and tousled hair, freckled chest golden with a slight tan.

“That’s alright,” Hinata says as he leans forwards, reconnecting his lips with Oikawa’s, soft, pliant, moving hot and open.

“Here,” Iwaizumi murmurs, soft and grounding even in the heat. “I’ll show you.” He reaches from behind Hinata to grab Oikawa’s hands, placing them on Hinata’s abdomen. Slowly, oh so slowly, he guides Oikawa’s hands a little higher so that they rest over Hinata’s pectorals, running Oikawa’s spindly fingers over Hinata’s nipples. Hinata’s breath hitches, and he leans forwards a little more onto Oikawa, breaking the kiss for a moment. Oikawa gains enough confidence to run a thumb overtop of one of Hinata’s nipples, Iwaizumi’s hands moving to simply rest upon his wrists as Oikawa tweaks them. Hinata arches against him, hands gripping his hair hard enough it begins to hurt. It’s when Oikawa drags Hinata’s lip between his teeth that he hears a soft moan against his mouth.

And Oikawa gives himself away to this sensation, to Hinata running his fingers through his hair. He breaks the kiss to press a gentle kiss to where Hinata’s jaw meets his neck, tasting sunscreen and the aftertaste of whatever eau de cologne is left on his skin. Hinata tugs a little harsher when Oikawa begins mouthing sloppily down his neck, adam's apple bobbing, breath hitching. Experimentally, Oikawa sucks a little harder on the column of his throat. He’s rewarded with a groan akin to a symphony, Hinata pulling Oikawa’s head close as to encourage him to continue.

Oikawa breathes out a laugh, warm, ticklish against Hinata’s neck. Hinata shivers and draws out his name, _Too-ru_ sung out like a songbird in the spring morning. It goes straight to his head, making Oikawa’s thoughts swirl as he moves onto leaving yet another mark, higher up towards his ear. It’s musical, the noises Hinata makes as Oikawa’s mouth works, the way his body reacts when Iwaizumi drags Oikawa’s hands back down his abdomen.

“Tooru,” Hinata sighs, hands slipping from his hair to tug on his shirt. “Off, _please_.”

Oikawa is compliant, pulling away, saliva trailing from where he was kissing at Hinata’s neck. Hinata looks up at him in wonder, reaching forwards to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before pressing their lips together. Oikawa still isn’t in control of his hands, Iwaizumi helping him undo the buttons that keep his shirt closed. Oikawa’s mind is on autopilot, Hinata leading the kiss one thousand percent as Iwaizumi finishes dealing with the buttons on Oikawa’s shirt, leaving his chest exposed, heaving and breathless from Hinata’s kiss. Hinata’s impatience is clear to see— he whines against Oikawa’s lips and slips Oikawa’s shirt off of his shoulders, tearing it off of his arms and tossing it somewhere else in the room.

Oikawa feels almost exposed, like his skin has just been shedded. Hinata drinks in the sight of him, eyes raking over his chests, hands following in suit. Oikawa leans in, pressing their foreheads together as Hinata stares into his eyes. It takes a few moments before either move, Hinata fluttering his eyes shut as his lips brush against Oikawa’s jaw. Oikawa’s heart flutters, eyes closing shut when Hinata’s teeth graze his skin, his own nails raking down Hinata’s stomach as Iwaizumi brings them down to rest on the hem of Hinata’s jeans.

Oikawa’s eyes flick open, and he peers over Hinata’s shoulder to stare Iwaizumi in the eye. Silently, he inhales, breath shaking, and nods, allowing Iwaizumi to press the heel of his hand against Hinata’s clothed crotch. Hinata leans forward, like putty in Oikawa’s arms at the touch, keening from something so small as he begins to rotate his hips against Oikawa’s hand. Everything seems concentrated, saturated, seems like a thousand refracted colours shine out of Hinata’s eyes when he leans back and hums. Iwaizumi undoes Hinata’s zipper for him, allowing for Oikawa to push his pants down as far as their position will let them.

“Love,” Oikawa whispers, half terrified, half amused. “You’re gonna have to move to take off your pants.”

Hinata whines from where he’s sandwiched between Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Don’t _wanna_ move,” he says, leaning back into Iwaizumi’s arms anyways. Iwaizumi laughs, rich and warm and vibrating through Hinata’s back as Oikawa shimmies away, giving Hinata the room needed to kick off his pants, watching as he pulls off his boxers with it. When he looks back up to meet Hinata’s eyes, the other has already reached out, pulling him off of the headboard and closer towards him.

It takes a few seconds before Oikawa’s mind fully processes that Hinata is _naked,_ pressed up against him, in the childhood home where they would do their homework, a few rooms away from where Hinata lived and Oikawa slept over, a million moments worth of memories held between these walls. Maybe it's fitting that they're doing this here, that Oikawa is taking in the constellations of freckles over bare browned shoulders, letting his hands slide over the strong muscles of Hinata’s thighs.

And Hinata’s flushed down his chest, a thousand butterflies resting in his eyelashes as they brush against his cheek. He’s beautiful, Oikawa realizes, in a way real people shouldn’t be. Ethereal, celestial. Like some kind of higher being that he shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

“Tooru,” Hinata sings, lips brushing his own. “Touch me.”

Oikawa’s heartbeat thrums in his ears, breath ragged as he rests his lips on the crook of Hinata’s neck, kissing along his collarbone. Iwaizumi brings his hands lower, palming them against Hinata. Hinata mewls, almost like a sigh of relief, bells ringing out around Oikawa’s head.

The skin of Hinata’s neck is hot, pulse heavy under Oikawa’s tongue. Hinata’s leaned his head all of the way back so that it rests on Iwaizumi shoulder, turning so that his face rests against his other boyfriend’s neck, leaving Oikawa all of the more room to continue leaving marks as his hand moves slowly on Hinata’s dick. Hinata’s eyes are screwed shut, squirming as Iwaizumi begins to leave kisses along the other side of his neck, softer, slower than the deliberate pace Oikawa sets to leave violet marks on his throat.

Hinata _writhes,_ presses his hips up into Oikawa’s hand, arms reaching back to grab the sheets and twist them in his hands. It’s push and pull, between him falling back against Iwaizumi’s chest or forwards onto Oikawa’s, clutching onto the bedcovers like a tether to the last remaining thing on earth. Oikawa pulls away from Hinata’s neck to watch his face, watch how his lips part, how his nose scrunches up, how his eyes fluctuate between remaining half lidded and barely opened to squeezed shut. He twists his wrist, watching how Hinata’s back arches off Iwaizumi’s chest, drawing out a cry from his throat.

“B-bedside drawer,” he stammers, catching Oikawa’s arm. “Drawer- second drawer, near the back—”

“I’ll get it,” Iwaizumi rasps, voice husky and rough as he moves to climb off of the bed, making his way over to the drawer. Hinata falls forwards onto Oikawa, all his weight resting on him for leverage, and for a moment he goes so lax Oikawa thinks he might be sleeping. He can tell he isn’t when he feels nails run down his chest, stopping at the button of his pants.

“Is this okay?” Hinata whispers, breathless, tilting his head up towards him. The remnants of natural light shine blue onto his face, hollow out the curves and contours of his cheekbones and jaws. Oikawa’s entire body _aches_ in primitive wanting.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, voice choked as Iwaizumi returns, shirt discarded, a small bottle and a foil packet in his hand. He tosses them on the pillow next to them, moving to climb back onto the bed only for Hinata to look towards him and pout, pausing in his escapade to undo Oikawa’s pants.

“You too,” he huffs, motioning to his pants. “Off.”

Iwaizumi whistles, smiling fond as he follows Hinata’s demand. Oikawa raises his brows, snapped back into the current situation when he feels the cold air hit his skin, Hinata having pulled off the last of his clothes.

Hinata reaches towards Oikawa, pulling him down to his level so that their lips can touch again. It’s heavy, hot, his tongue pressing on Oikawa’s teeth, both breathing in the other like oxygen. It’s otherworldly, insane, dizzying, intoxicating, hands traveling _everywhere_ in an effort to learn the folds and the turns of each other’s body, to know what the crook of Oikawa’s hip feels like or if Hinata’s ribcage could be climbed like an old sycamore tree. Hinata presses flush to his body, grinds down on him as fingernails leave trails down the muscles of Oikawa’s back, little scratches sending shivers up Oikawa’s spine.

They break apart for a moment, neither making another move, simply staring each other down with pupils blown and lips swollen. Oikawa realizes if he’s half of a mess as Hinata, he’d be lucky— Hinata’s got hair in every direction, blush blotchy across his shoulders like a painting not yet complete, lips shiny with spit and neck completely ruined with bruises on either side, deepening with every passing moment. Oikawa stares, stunned by the way in which Hinata captures every single kind of beauty in a simple glance, a simple lick of his lips, a single brush of his fingertips across Oikawa’s shoulder.

Soundlessly, Iwaizumi moves from where he was situated behind Hinata to hand Oikawa the bottle of lube, only for Oikawa to freeze up.

“I don’t... I’ve never done this— I don't think—” he stammers, is cut off by Hinata’s finger against his lip.

“Shh,” he coos. “S’okay.”

“I can do it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “All you have to do is watch.”

A noise dies in the back of Oikawa’s throat, choking on the words as Hinata untangles himself from him, kissing him one last time before sitting back in Iwaizumi’s lap. He twists his head so that their lips can meet, Iwaizumi’s free hand cupping Hinata’s jaw as they kiss. It’s warm, languid, without rush or care despite Hinata’s obvious haste. Eventually, the kiss breaks, Iwaizumi needing both hands to pop open the bottle and dribble some of the liquid on his hands, rubbing it between his fingers in attempt to warm it up. Hinata’s eyes flick back to Oikawa, wide open as he spreads his legs, keeping his gaze locked with Oikawa’s until Iwaizumi presses a finger inside of him.

Hinata’s eyes snap shut, chest expanding as his shoulders tense, Iwaizumi holding him steady with his other arm. Oikawa somehow feels _more_ despite being completely untouched, feels on fire just watching Hinata come apart under Iwaizumi’s hands. It’s slow at first, Hinata’s body rigid for a few minutes as Iwaizumi works in another finger, breaths short and shallow. Oikawa involuntarily moves closer, taking in how Hinata’s eyebrows pull together, how his head lulls to the side when the pleasure starts to outweigh the pain.

Iwaizumi keeps his lips close to Hinata’s ear as he moves his fingers in and out, voice low as he murmurs something inaudible to Oikawa’s ears. Hinata arches his back, a moan torn from his lips, squirming in Iwaizumi’s grasp as Iwaizumi continues to mumble.

 _Oh,_ Oikawa realizes. _He’s speaking to him._ Hinata’s eyes squeeze a little tighter. _He likes it._

Slowly, Oikawa creeps forwards to that their knees touch, unsure still where to put his hands, but certain enough for once that he knows what he’s doing. As Iwaizumi continues to scissor and thrust his fingers, Oikawa opens his mouth, and speaks.

“I wish you could see yourself like I can,” he says to him, eyes wandering over his body, from his one extended leg to his one hand tangled in the sheets. “I never knew you could blush this much… that you could make sounds like this.”

Hinata’s eyes jolt open in shock before falling closed again, hitched breaths sounding more and more like whines on every exhale. Oikawa licks his lips, amazed at the reaction, moves even closer and lowers his voice so that it’s barely louder than a whisper.

“I can’t believe I get to see you like this, fidgeting and moaning and staring me down,” he tells him. “You sound so beautiful, _Shouyou_.” His voice cracks towards the end of the sentence, but it’s fine— Hinata’s ruined in effect of his words, Oikawa’s name being pulled from his throat in seven long syllables and two stolen inhales, his entire body shuddering slightly.

“He’s right,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, the most spectacular person we could ask for.”

“I used to imagine this,” Oikawa continues. “Used to think about it, wondering what you might look like. I never— I couldn’t picture anything quite like this. It’s a billion times better than any fantasy, and it’s _real_.”

“God, _fuck_ I’m— I’m ready, just let me—” Hinata stutters, arching off of Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi presses his fingers into Hinata one last time before pulling them out, wiping them on the sheets as Hinata takes a moment to recover, chest heaving. Oikawa stays caught in space, unmoving as Hinata looks back up at him, giving him only a second to realize what’s coming before Hinata surges forwards, pushing him down onto the bed with a soft _fwoomp._

Oikawa has no time to recover as Hinata crawls on top of him, both hands reaching to hold his face in place as he kisses him senseless, messy and rushed, impatient in every sense of the word. He pulls back too soon, leaving Oikawa reeling as he sits back on his thighs, hands splayed across Oikawa’s abdomen. Hinata tears open the condom wrapper and rolls it onto him.

“Hajime, can you—”

He doesn’t have to finish the rest of his sentence, Iwaizumi already there with the bottle, moving to sit beside them as Hinata snatches it out of his hands. Oikawa’s head spins, and distantly, he notices how Hinata’s hands shake as he pours more of the lube onto his hands, reaching down to coat Oikawa’s cock in it.

“Cold!” Oikawa yelps, eyes opening wide, head lifting off the pillow. Hinata kisses him in apology, pumps his hand twice in a way that reminds Oikawa of how he’s barely been touched the entire time. He drops his head back onto the pillow, mumbling something that would resemble _the death of me_ if he were speaking coherently. Hinata smiles against his lips, sitting up straight to line Oikawa’s dick up with his entrance and slowly sink down.

Oikawa’s mind turns into a mess of ones and zeros and error codes, his eyes squeezing shut. Everything goes blank except for sensation, a string of curse words leaving his mouth as Hinata sits down fully, hands still pressed against Oikawa’s chest. It’s silent for a thousand seconds in a heartbeat until Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s hands and brings them to rest on Hinata’s waist.

“Look,” he says. “Don’t you want to see him?”

Oikawa groans, cracking open his eyes to look up at Hinata, panting and sitting on top of him, biting his lip so hard Oikawa thinks it might bleed, flush traveling all the way to his navel in a rose coloured trail to where his dick stands up against his abdomen. Oikawa wonders how much longer his entire world will stay at this kind of excruciating stand still, how long he’ll be left a slave to desperate yearning.

Hinata moves slowly at first, rising up, using Oikawa as a leverage before sinking back down much faster than before, throwing his head back and digging his nails into Oikawa’s chest.

“Christ,” Oikawa croaks, gripping harder onto Hinata’s hips. Hinata somehow has enough cheek to smile, rolling his hips and ripping another moan from Oikawa’s throat in response.

Hinata moves a little more steady, with a little more rhythm, a pace of rise and fall that drives Oikawa a little more crazy than he wants to admit. Hinata moves against him like it’s breathing, like it’s easy, plays him like a fiddle and orchestrates every response from Oikawa, every groan and every buck off his hips, like it were planned.

“You’re doing so well,” Iwaizumi mumbles into Hinata’s ear, and oh, Oikawa can tell by the slack of his jaw that he’s gone just from hearing his voice. “Look how good you’re makin’ him feel, look how he’s reacting. It’s all because of you.”

Hinata practically falls down onto Oikawa, the change in angle hitting something inside of him that makes him cry out, clenching down around Oikawa, nails scratching down his stomach. Iwaizumi is there to catch him has he goes slack, having barely enough of a mind to lift himself up again on his own. Iwaizumi helps Hinata move, guiding him to the angle that makes his toes curl.

Oikawa watches, watches Hinata’s eyes screw shut and nose crinkle, watches as his chest heaves and hitches and his moans turn into strangled cries, head thrown back, body limp in Iwaizumi’s arms. And lord, is he gone, world turning a million different shades of white, of intensity, of hands gripping so hard on Hinata's waist he leaves bruises and hips thrusting up beyond his control. Hinata comes apart on top of him, nearly falling down against his chest in exhaustion, and Oikawa wonders if this is what they mean when they say you see stars.

Gently, Iwaizumi guides Hinata off of Oikawa, lies him down next to him and reaches for the tissues to help clean them up, the condom tied up and discarded into the trash bin. Everything feels subdued, feels like hearing voices underwater or from another room, even when Hinata curls up into his bare, scratched chest and presses a sweet kiss to his lips. Iwaizumi joins them a moment after, pulling the covers around them and wrapping an arm around Hinata’s other side, kissing his shoulder.

“You good?” Hinata asks him, looking through his eyelashes at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi smiles. “Yeah. I don’t mind watching,” he says.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa asks, aiming the question towards Hinata, voice still rough in his throat.

Hinata hums. “I’m wonderful,” he tells him. “I love you, you know. Both of you.” He nuzzles further into his hold, kissing the scratches at the top of Oikawa’s chest. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oikawa says, smiling fondly at him. “Just rest, love.”

Hinata nods, eyes fluttering shut. “N’ love you.”

“Love you too,” Iwaizumi says, voice warm, low. “Rest, we’ll be here in the morning.”

Hinata doesn’t find the sleep that pulls on the edges of his consciousness. He smiles, content. He knows they’ll be there when he wakes. He knows, he knows.

—

Hinata bounces on the balls of his feet as they approach his mom and sister’s house above the bakery. He can already smell supper wafting down from the open windows, and there’s not a worry nor care in his mind as he leads the way to the metal outdoor staircase that opens to the balcony door. Behind him, his two boyfriends jog to catch up, Iwaizumi knowing the way and Oikawa trailing behind. The only one who can keep up with Hinata’s enthusiasm is Bok Choy, who bounds along between his legs, jumping and dashing towards the door.

“Are you sure Natsu will like me?” Oikawa asks, skipping the stairs two at a time. “I mean, I know your mom does deep down, but _Natsu_ —”

“Is a ten year old who likely doesn't hate you nearly as much as she lets on,” Iwaizumi finishes. Hinata smiles beside him, nodding his head as he walks over to grab Oikawa’s hand.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he emphasizes. “Trust me, okay?”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, calming himself as Hinata pulls him inside, already announcing their arrival as he kicks off his shoes. Iwaizumi follows in suit, laughing as Bok Choy bolts through the foyer, already searching out for food. Hinata’s mother turns the corner from the kitchen, opening her arms wide in welcome. She’s got an apron hastily tied around her waist, hair pinned back away from her face and bare feet, the epitome of homeliness and kindness.

“Oh, I thought you’d be late!” she says, pulling them each into a hug. “Let me take this thing off— we’re eating on the back porch. Natsu is outside, do you mind calling her?”

“No, I’ll do it,” Hinata says, already dashing outside the back door to climb down to the porch, leaving his two boyfriends with his mom. Hinata’s mother softens, rolling out her shoulders and untying the apron from her waist.

“Oikawa, I picked up this brilliant science book from the library,” she says, moving around to toss the apron in the hamper. “I know you were working on some physics thing, and Shouyou’s been telling me about it but you need to forgive me, because I don’t understand a thing.”

Oikawa laughs lightly. “That’s fine, I can tell you about it if you’d like,” he offers.

Hinata’s mother lights up. “Really? Now that’d be so kind of you. Could you two set the table though? Plates are on the counter.”

Oikawa looks over to Iwaizumi and smiles. It’s golden in the way the sun sets through the windows, in the children’s shouts from the streets below, in every laugh that breaks through the sounds of the ocean. Together, they set the table, moving outside into the warmth where they can spot Hinata and Natsu chasing each other around through the back street. Oikawa leans over the railing, watching in fondness as they abandon whatever task they sought out to do in favour of playing in the springtime sun. Hinata’s carefree glee radiates off him in waves, reaches Oikawa like some tangible thing he can feel, visceral and warmer than any blanket or sun. Iwaizumi pauses beside him, stopping to stare as well. The time trickles away like syrup draining, thick and slow as it passes on by. Oikawa doesn't pay any mind to it, keeps his chin resting on his hand and his eyes fixed on the laughter of the one he loves.

Eventually supper time comes, and the table is set and meal prepared, both Hinata children returning to the table with laughter still slipping from their lips, poking each other’s sides until Hinata can break away and sit between Iwaizumi and Oikawa at the table. Natsu glares his way, staring Oikawa down as she sits directly in front of him, baring her teeth as if to try and scare him. It works to a degree, because Oikawa’s hand darts out to squeeze Hinata’s as the food is served.

“So, Oikawa dear, tell me about this research you were working on,” Hinata’s mother says.

Oikawa takes no time in launching into an explanation of the project, describing the details of something no one else at the table seems to fully understand. It doesn't stop him, of course— he breaks down each part into easy to get and simplified definitions, uses his hands when he talks and makes ground breaking science akin to something as simple as a family recipe. Hinata stays silent the whole time, staring towards Oikawa with just as much interest, despite having learnt the details of his research before. It’s clear to see how much he loves it, from the way the words flow freely and frequent, to how his own excitement in his field draws everyone in, even Natsu.

Begrudgingly, she begins to ask questions, her own curiosity beating out her prejudice to Oikawa as a person. Oikawa doesn't take offence to her skeptical tone, answers her every inquiry without condescending her knowledge or being stuck up. Hinata’s chest feels fuzzy at watching them interact, at watching Oikawa’s fear of his younger sister melt away along with her own stubborn presumptions towards him. And Hinata thinks, he couldn’t be more in love with this Oikawa, the exuberant and joyful one, with hair fluffy from humidity and clothes mismatched and worn. It’s the happiness that he wears, the kind that settles into his skin and smile and makes anything about him beautiful.

“That’s quite impressive,” Hinata’s mother comments. “Do you have anything else you want to go back and research?”

Hinata and Iwaizumi both freeze, looking towards Oikawa at the same time. It’s a topic and a question that’s never been broached before, one that makes them both feel a little sick to the stomach and a little dizzy in the head. Oikawa simply shakes his head, no hesitation in his movements.

“There’s nothing for me in Tokyo,” he says simply. “What I love is here. And science? That’s something that exists everywhere, not just in big cities with too many people and too much traffic.”

Oikawa feels Hinata’s eyes on him, feels the hand that entwines with his own under the table. It’s true— because science and physics can’t explain how his chest tightens and how his head spins and how his breath gets short from just being around someone. Because he’s not a neutrino that exists by the trillion, he’s a person with blood and bone and teeth that are chipped, and Oikawa will find Hinata nowhere else.

So they smile and fit together not like people who were made for each other, but people who made it work. The three look at what they have, from the small town life to each other, and feel the gratefulness of love beyond their years seep through them.

—

**_Summer, 2011_ **

 

The world is blue at twilight. July breaks in record heats and humidity, the kind of sweat that clings to your clothes and forces you to turn on all four fans in the house. It’s after three hours of lying on the bed together, sheets throw off, too hot to even cuddle, that Oikawa announces he’s headed swimming. It’s only logical that Iwaizumi and Hinata follow along, the three piling into the truck (because god knows they aren't walking in this weather) and heading to the one cove, hidden by the tide, where they know the sand will be soft and bare.

It’s only once they get there, the tide at the perfect height for jumping off the rocks and swimming, that they realize none of them thought to bring their bathing suits.

That doesn't stop them in the slightest. Iwaizumi finds a sizeable rock to stash their clothes under, the three stripping down to their boxers, or in Oikawa’s case, nothing. It’s with sighs of relief and wide smiles that they dive into the water, holding their noses and kicking against the waves to rise to the surface.

It’s always a treat to see Iwaizumi with his hair down, plastered to his face. Hinata, he supposes, is no different— hair brushed to one side as he lazily leans back to float atop the water, enjoying the coolness of it against his skin. Oikawa, of course, takes the shock of the water with much complaining, but he settles down after dipping under a few more times to get settled.

Oikawa, for all of his oddities and idiosyncrasies, takes to the water like a fish. It’s nothing next to Iwaizumi, though. Years of swimming through rough tides and sea, of diving after glasses and sunken pins has trained him for playing splash underwater, for diving low and sneaking up behind Hinata to scare him. It hardly works, the outcome being a pair of strong arms wrapped around Hinata’s middle and a cool pair of lips against his cheek. The rising moon sparkles against the glass of the water, shines like a thousand little crystals scattered across the horizon, and as Hinata treads water, he watches it dances across the smile on Oikawa’s face.

Oikawa slips back down into the water so that only his eyes are seen, winking before submerging himself completely. Hinata follows in suit, fighting the burn of the salt as he open his eyes to look towards Oikawa, heart stopping as the light refracts across his face, making the hollows glow in haunting displays of beauty renowned.

Eventually, they have to go up for air, surfacing with gasps and gaping mouths. Iwaizumi hovers nearby, laughing as they gain their composure again. Oikawa flicks his bangs from his face, splashing Hinata with water. Hinata yells in laughter, spitting the leftover salt water from his mouth towards Oikawa. Oikawa sputters, indignant before smacking a huge kiss on Hinata’s cheek and swimming away.

Hinata is too giggly to be mad, turns to Iwaizumi and wipes his face of excess water. Iwaizumi shakes his head as Oikawa paddles around them, brushes Hinata’s wet hair aside and smiles.

“Wanna hunt for shells?” he asks, and suddenly they're fifteen and seventeen, laughing and looking for little wonders in the sea. Hinata nods and Iwaizumi dives, heads down a few feet and becomes consumed by the abyss. The silence is tangible, air breezy and quiet save for the crash of the waves and the pants of the two swimmers.

Oikawa and Hinata wait for a minute, waiting for Iwaizumi to resurface. When he does, its head first, an oyster clutched tightly in his hand. It takes him a few seconds to recover from free diving. When he does, he grins, swimming over to the rock and climbing off. Hinata stares at his back muscles as he climbs, face heating up at the sight of his muscles moving under his skin. Hinata sighs, splashing his face before swimming up to follow him, Oikawa at his heels.

“Is it alive?” Oikawa asks, crouching a considerable distance away from the shell, shivering slightly but without any shame for his naked body. It makes Hinata flush red, look away and turn back to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi nods, turning it over in his hands. “Yeah, probably. Wanna see if it has a pearl?”

Hinata’s eyes widen like the moon above their heads. “Will that hurt it?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Nah, it’s like poking someone in the tongue. My grandpa did it once when I was a kid— haven't found a pearl since, but I try.”

Hinata moves closer, Oikawa hovering over his shoulder in fear of the mollusc’s tongue. Iwaizumi eases open the shell, not grimacing when its tongue sticks out and almost licks his arm. Oikawa makes a noise of disgust, but Hinata only leans closer in, watching as Iwaizumi gently digging his finger into the back of its shell. He frowns for a moment, eyes crinkling as he adjusts his hand before slowly removing it, closing his fist and letting the oyster closer shut. Carefully, he opens his palm, revealing a blue toned, silvery ball in the centre of his hand, about the size of a marble with smooth sides.

“Amazing,” Hinata breathes, tilting his head and watching the way it shimmers in the moonlight.

“It’s yours,” Iwaizumi tells him, his eyes softened as Hinata looks up from the pearl to face him, lips parted and smile growing. Behind him, Oikawa wraps his arms around his waist, kisses his shoulder and holds him close.

And what swells isn't just the ocean or the waves, it’s the feeling that ebbs deep from inside Hinata, the feel that breathes life into every pore of his skin and breaks open his heart like a clam. He falls into Oikawa’s arms, falls into Iwaizumi’s kiss, falls like cliff diving or loving someone, puts his heart in the hands that hold him steady. In the summer wind and midnight tide, Hinata breathes— in, out— the smell of salt and skin and whatever cologne still sticks to Oikawa’s skin, ocean be damned.

—

There’s gossip from students, but there always has been, always will be. It’s harmless, curious— _are you and Iwaizumi dating still? What about Oikawa?_ all asked in childish lilted tones. Hinata just laughs, goes back to shifting his books in his arms and waves it off in lieu of a new lesson.

Things grow with time, tangle roots in the bedrock of the clifftop garden, in Oikawa’s bones and Iwaizumi’s hair. Hinata laughs and bakes and giggles, teaches himself how to trust and Oikawa how to smile and Iwaizumi how to relax. None of them never knew how, they simply forgot, lost in the clutches of time and life and things outside of their control alone.

But Hinata isn’t alone, is he? Not now, not ever. He watches the sunrise behind Oikawa’s hair when they jog together, feels the magnetism, the pull to Iwaizumi’s concentration when he plays guitar, creates new memories of shallow breathes and deep waters, of memorizing and worshipping the beauty of those around him and _cherishing_.

And he doesn't care, not if it has been a year or seven or seventeen, doesn't care for anything but the lips pressed on the base of his neck, or the steady thump of the heartbeat through his lovers’ chest. This is his favourite part of the story, when he lies down on the pier and stares at the sky, closes his eyes and listens to the incoming tide’s roar.

It groans, the boat creaks. Two people come and sit beside him. He’s at home— after everything, he’s home.

_If you love someone—_

_They’re yours._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, thats all of it! the end of small town au. god, what a fascinating au. ((also, a completed chaptered fic? that i helped work on? unheard of, and yet here it is. god bless kj and their writing skills.))
> 
> and folks, don't keep things to yourself. talk to your friends. if something happens, try to make things work out with them. dont be afraid to let them know how you feel. confrontation is frightening, but its better than keeping things in and bottling things up and making things much, much worse. cherish your friends. let them know how much you care about them. appreciate them and dont take them for granted. ((can you tell this fic has gotten to me? because it really has.)) but anyways, thats enough rambling from me.
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this trip. i know i did. next up: 100k slow burn coffee shop au. just kidding, its a matsuhanahina academy au.

**Author's Note:**

> questions, comments, or just wanna talk iwaoihina? hit mooks or i up on tumblr at mooksmookin.tumblr.com and spacegaykj.tumblr.com and let us hear what u think! as always, comments and kudos make our day!


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